The Prince, the Pauper, and the Pirate
by Brahma Bear
Summary: A pre-series story. Don Karnage discovers that his puny protege bears a striking resemblance to a royal prince, and enlists a disguised Kit to infiltrate the palace to steal shiny things.
1. A lousy day

**The Prince, the Pauper, and the Pirate**

**Prologue**

**A necessary evil**

Moot Point was a cove on a tropic isle beyond the fringes of governed territories. It had no authorities, and it had no book of law. There, everyone was his or her own protection. There were no townships or raised flags, though the clustered settlement of shelters at the cove was far from uninhabited. Ships and seaplanes coming and going were as common and frequent as the waves washing upon the sandy beaches.

It was a haven of illicit trading, where the only question asked was _how much_. Shacks serving as trading posts were made of old hulls of ships and airplanes, then others were hewn logs and large fanning palm leaves gathered from the isle's heart.

A gunmetal cargo plane skimmed the shoreline and beached at the cove's mouth. A wolf skull on its fuselage, crudely painted white in thick brush strokes, made it widely recognizable. The side door opened, and emerging were the sky pirates Don Karnage, Gibber, Mad Dog, and Dumptruck, most of them armed, ready for a fight if need be, cutlasses, muskets and hatchets hanging or sheathed to their attire. Most of them.

Don Karnage only carried a towel to relax on, a cloth to fold over his eyes, and his attire was a pair of swimming trunks. A small pack of other pirates began carrying out barrels and crates. High above, partially eclipsing the sun, loomed the _Iron Vulture_.

There were countless things that Don Karnage loved about the pirate life. Trips like this were not among them. He loathed the notion of trading away any his rightfully stolen loot. Still, his guns could not shoot coin, his planes could not run on fine silks, and his crew could not eat silver platters, and on an unrelated note, all of the above were learned from experience at some point or another. Their kitchen stock was nearly bare. Sometimes, bartering with other crooks was a necessary evil of being a villain.

He drew the line at doing the bargaining himself, however. Hence, he spent his time doing things that were less likely to make him want to rip someone a new tail, such as sunbathing on the beach. Gibber did the haggling of their pillaged wares, inefficient as his ear-to-mouth method was, padding over the sandy shoals to Karnage to get his approval for a particular purchase or trade, then back again, then back again... then back again.

The prevalence of guns and blades kept the civility, though the eruption of bloody chaos was always just a squabble away. Such had always been the way of places like Moot Point, for it was hardly the first of its like, and once the cove was reduced to a giant red stained feast for sea gulls, another place just like it would turn up. For now, there was peace. Arguments were mild, a deal was made or it was not, and thievery was nonexistent. Thieves, smugglers, fences, privateers, pirates... and occasionally the honest trader... met here from all walks of life, their business and travels their own.

In the shade of an awning that used to be a plane's wing, a bearded tiger sea captain and his salty lot sold cured meats to a lanky leopard in a safari hat and stained khakis, who had a rifle longer than he was tall. At a straw hut, a neatly groomed Thembrian in a purple silk suit and diamond jewelry haggled over the price of furs with a posse of head-hunting pygmy crocodiles. One fence's shack had goods from can openers to wedding gowns. Its keeper, a bulldog in a coarse brown shirt, snored in front while slouched over the butt of a shotgun.

On the beach, Don Karnage stretched happily over his towel, letting his heels dig into the sand. The squawk of the sea gulls and the lapping waves made for a soothing midday lullaby. It was nice while it lasted.

"If it ain't the prince o' pirates," a woman's raspy voice said behind him. "Been _waitin' _here for ya, suga'." Karnage recognized that voice. He pulled the folded cloth from his eyes and dared a peek, frowning.

Roxy Post was a short fox in beat-up overalls and a navy blue post officer's cap snug over her ears, the bill of it hiding her eyes. Really, the way to tell if she was looking at you was if you could see up her nose. Her smile, as the one she approached Karnage with, was a gritting of small needle-like fangs and a soft pink tongue.

With her single-prop plane on two big pontoons, full of secret compartments, her instrument to play in the vast ne'er-do-well orchestra was smuggling and private correspondence, delivered and returned (often to those who did not exactly have a street address), secure from pesky law enforcement agents, to anyone, anywhere, for a price.

Karnage sighed. Now people _expected _to find him here. He sat up and squinted at the envelope in her hand. "From who?" he asked.

"Why one Miss Hatter, I declare," said the fox. "It's whatcha call an inside scoop to some fabulous loot. Dig?" When Karnage reached for the envelope, it was jerked back. "Ah ah! It's all yours for a modest fee, o' course," she said. "For me an' my client. Just a lil' round number, is all."

When she told him the fee, Karnage laughed. There were a _few _round numbers in that round number. He laid back across is towel and tried to find again that wonderful stretch. "Tell her to go dig her own scoops," he said, waving her away.

"Wouldn't say that if ya knew what it was, cuz." She sauntered around him, fanning the envelope, and finally Karnage's ear cocked toward her, waiting. The fish had nibbled the hook. "How would the prince o' pirates like to be wearin' a _crown_?"

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**A lousy day**

Across the far corners of the globe, there was a ominous terror struck in the heart of every sky-faring adventurer. A predator lurked in cold, dark clouds, springing upon its prey with ruthless ferocity, swallowing whole entire planes in its maw. Cities took up arms at a mere glimpse of its silhouette in the far horizon. Doom approached in the gaze of its dead yellow eye. The _Iron Vulture _was a sky pirate's pride and joy, and the prize of its captain's arsenal, hunting uninhibitedly in the high winds, fearless, invincible. Sometimes.

"Does anything _work _on this scum-sucking bucket of busted bolts!" cried Don Karnage. The loss of hot water was the last straw. Storming out of his cabin in his bath robe and slippers, he kicked at the steel corridor wall as if to teach the ship a lesson. The only lesson to be had was it hurt him more than it did the ship. He seethed and cursed, and what made him angrier was having to watch his curses mock him by floating as a fog in front of his nose.

It was a lousy day to be a pirate. The _Iron Vulture _was stuck afloat in arctic water, and the pirates were going to freeze their loot sacks if they did not get it fixed.

A seasoned villain such as Don Karnage, known to frequent the warm tropical seas, did not just get lost and wind up in the middle of the frozen north by accident. Usually. There was a nice heist involved, as with most things that would coax him far from the comforts of Pirate Island (where there was the constant sulfuric stench, quakes and fear that the volcano could erupt one day and roast them all to charred piratey stick figures... but at least you didn't worry about freezing).

This heist involved a king's ransom, or at least a king's crown, and it would bolster a pirate's infamy for years to come.

The pirates had previously been skulking in the skies around the area of the city Pazooza. Karnage was there to confirm a lead, given to him by a certain informant. There, through mild publicity, it was known that King Klondike, of the tiny kingdom of Polaria, had just vacationed in Pazooza with Polaria's crown jewels on public display during his visit.

Karnage's informant said that the king was returning home in a steamship convoy, crown jewels aboard, escorted by armed Uslandian vessels, but the escorts would return after a certain latitude, leaving the king's convoy lightly guarded for a short time. There, the jewels would be ripe for the picking, and the _Iron Vulture _went hunting.

With enough time to catch up, a course was set to intercept the king's convoy, and the dread airship was driven northward to lie in wait. Don Karnage had an exact location in mind to spring the trap, also courtesy of the informant, where the steamship would be passing near a headland just miles from its kingdom home-close enough where it might radio for help, but far enough where, with the element of surprise, the help would come too late. There, at the right time, the _Iron Vulture _would appear from the high ridge, and the fun would begin.

In two days they had crossed over to the realm of icy, silver seas and gray skies, across the western fringes of Thembrian borders. There the pirates waited, combing the churning crests with flying scout patrols. Karnage was impatient, licking his chops at the impending notoriety, and later that afternoon the time of the steamship's arrival would be imminent.

Then, that morning, with impeccable timing, it began... the worst, not the heist. They went blind in the weather, and map and compass became worthless. Heavy overcast had forced the _Iron Vulture _to lower altitudes, where Jock the helmsman could see where they were going. There were many, many rivers and fjords knifing through sheer cliffs en route to Polaria, and the landscape from above was a vast expanse of deep wrinkles, colors in patches of forest green and icy white. Tall evergreen pines powdered in snow reached out to tickle the airship's belly. The gnarled fingers of water they flew over were as gray as the sky, and twisted and turned with no end. Snowflakes clung to the ship's windows, and webs of frost slowly but steadily thickened on the glass.

At first, Don Karnage stared out from the bridge and laughed at the cold, though he did so with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Then there erupted a terrible sputtering from the _Vulture's_ rear propellers, and for a moment the entire ship shook. Every pirate - those navigating from the bridge, those tending the attack planes in the hangar, those looking for furniture to burn to warm the place up - paused where they stood, and looked fearfully about the walls and ceiling as if they were about to implode. They felt the floor slowly roll beneath their feet, and those who were near a window could see it better, that the airship was slowing down.

And slow it did, to nearly a dead stop in mid-air. There were two reasons why that would happen, either ether the king's convoy was right below them, or things were about to get uncomfortable. In the absence of orders being barked out to swoop down on their prey, a collective groan rose in chorus from every corridor.

The massive rear propellers had come to a stop, and without their push the pirates were stranded in a 50-ton airborne sailboat without sails. Karnage ordered the ship set down while Ratchet searched for the problem, and they landed in one of the fjords, tucked between tall snowy cliffs and frozen pines.

That had been hours ago. Since then, most of the electricity generators had shut down as well, and working light bulbs had become a luxury, as with what heating radiators had the ship.

Kit Cloudkicker made stomping sounds as he hurried down a dank steel corridor, footsteps that sounded as if from a grown bear five times his size. That was because he was wearing a pair of chewed-up rubber boots (and who knows who did the chewing), so big on him that the tops went all the way up his legs. The floors were getting cold, and the boots he found were a bright idea until he couldn't take three steps without tripping over himself.

There was a reason for his haste. He had overheard some of the bigger pirates conspiring to play a bit of _runt bowling _to pass the time... and they were looking for a runt. He was of course the runt-iest, and was still greener than his sweater where it came to most of this sky pirate business, but where it came to their sort of recreation, he had already once made the error of joining in for a cordial game of rag-tag stick-ball in the hangar, where he was selected to play first base. That is, he _was _the first base.

It was best to make himself scarce until the crew got busy again. After stumbling one last time, he kicked off the boots and padded around the corner, and came to the captain's cabin. The heavy iron door was ajar.

He peeked inside. The lights were off, but there was a circle of silver sunlight from the broadside window. He had not seen much more than clouds and ocean since they left Pazooza, and wanted a look at their new surroundings. Besides, here was one place where the charter members of the Runt Bowling League wouldn't think to find him. He shut the door behind him and tiptoed across the room, careful as if he might set off some sort of alarm. A shag rug in the middle of the room felt like shaggy heaven as he swept his feet over it. He had to push a chair to the window and stand on it.

Outside was a picture fit for a postcard. The cliffs of the fjord sparkled white, and the trees atop the ridge looked like rows of Christmas trees powdered in snow. Snow fluttered lightly in the wind, and sometimes the flakes fell upon the window pane, right in front of his eyes, where their tiny, intricate star-like designs could be seen.

It looked pretty. It felt _cold_. He sneezed and the whole glass pane went foggy.

From somewhere in the ship, there was a scream, a crashing noise, and a rise of cheers. The bowlers had found their runt, the poor sap.

Kit sighed and pushed the chair back in place. That was when he noticed that Karnage had a wood stove in the corner. Kit remembered seeing it before in a room where they had stashed miscellaneous junk. It was a rusted work of black iron that was no doubt salvaged from an earlier crime, and there was a small stack of chopped wood next to it.

He couldn't believe his luck, what with the rest of the ship freezing, and at the same time couldn't believe Karnage's stupidity. Why in the world wasn't the stove lit? If there was ever a good day for it, they were in it.

It was decided in a heartbeat. If the captain was going to yell at him for meddling with his room, he could yell in the glow of a warm cozy fire.

Kit set out across the ship to find Hacksaw for some matches. It was widely known that asking Hacksaw if he had a match was like asking the beach if it had sand. The same could be said of his fondness of dynamite, which he always kept a supply strapped to himself with armbands.

In fact, as Kit recalled, during his first stretch living on Pirate Island, Hacksaw had introduced him to the joyous world of blowing things to smithereens. Out they were about midway up the slope of the volcanic spire, just the two of them, and Hacksaw had lit a stick of dynamite. Carelessly he tossed it and watched it roll downward, and in a few seconds there was a fiery explosion. The surprise and force of the hot blast knocked Kit on his backside, his ears split and teeth rattling in his gums. Those little red sticks had a mean kick.

"Now! Watch this! Watch this!" Hacksaw had squealed, so giddily. While Kit rubbed his ringing ears, the giant yellow canine dug out a hole in the ground with his bare fingers, lit another stick of dynamite, dropped it in, then hurriedly kicked the dirt back in to fill the hole, giving it a few good stomps to pack it down.

He was very pleased with his work, but then his brow frowned in confusion. "Forgetting, uh, s-something," he muttered. He put a shaky forefinger up to his temple, pushing repeatedly it like a key on a register. "Something... something... Ah!" The register had finally registered; he laughed and he looked down at Kit with a fanged grin both bright and gruesome. "Run!"

There was no need to suggest it again. They bolted and stumbled, screaming, rolling and sliding toward the rocky shoreline until the slope eased enough to stop them. The next blast was just as loud, but jostled the earth and launched a big chunk of the mountain in the sky. A great dusty cloud came rolling toward them and blew past their feet, pelting them with small stones, and more fell on their heads as a deluge of dirt and rock.

All the while, Hacksaw laughed like he was being tickled. When the dust began to settle, Kit braved to uncurl himself from the ground, and looked up at the mountain; it had always been jagged and rough, but now it was even more so, with a new giant scar.

"Awesome," breathed Kit, blinking.

"Awwwwe-some!" agreed Hacksaw, making his own dust-devil as he twirled in circles. "Wanna do it again?"

"Can _I_ light it this time?" asked Kit, with all the timidity of a puppy who was waiting for someone to throw a ball.

Alas, there was not a third blast, not before Don Karnage intervened, with his lunch all over his lap. As it happened, he took issue with them putting craters in what was the equivalent of their front yard, and voiced further concerns about the noise and wisdom in such tomfoolery. He offered to Hacksaw, with firm conviction, an alternate idea about where the next stick of dynamite would be buried, though it would make a sailor blush to repeat it.

Kit found Hacksaw in one of the berths, sitting on a cot and keeping to himself. He was gnawing on one of his dynamite sticks, much like how his feral counterpart might chew on a bone. Every now and then he snickered to himself, and muttered a jittery joke.

"Can I have one of your matchbooks?" asked Kit.

Hacksaw began to oblige, reaching into his pant waist, but stopped as he thought about it. "Wait!" With one eye, he leaned in and eyed Kit with every suspicion in the world. "What'd ya want it for? _Huh_?"

"I wanna play with fire," smiled Kit.

"Ahh! Okey-dokey then!" It was as easy as that.

Back in the captain's cabin, Kit loaded the stove with four pieces of firewood, threw in a lit match and closed the hatch. It took a moment, but soon the little flame inside was growing. Kit pulled up a chair next to the stove, and warmed his hands in the flickering glow. The warmth washed over him, inch by inch, melting away the chill through his fingers, up his arms, on his knees, and into his sweater.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He felt like he could sit there forever. This was bliss. This was... choking.

He coughed and gagged. When he opened his eyes, they stung. The fire had grown, and the room was filled with smoke. This didn't seem right, there wasn't supposed to be so much smoke, was there? It was billowing through the top of the stove, through a hole where the _chimney _should have been.

"Oh my gosh," he squeaked, the room darkening by the second. He jumped out the chair and a frantic dance to and from either side of the stove, looking for some sort of switch or lever. "How do you _turn it off_?" With lungs bursting to capacity, he blew at the fire through the hatch, but that only made the fire jump all the larger. He tried to open the hatch to see if he could pull some of the firewood back out, but pulled back singed fingers before he realized _that _was a bad idea.

He clasped his cheeks and stamped around, thinking thinking _thinking_... Karnage had his own shower and sink in an adjacent room, so Kit went there. He turned the sink faucet up all the way, but the water was not coming, only foreboding grinding noises from the plumbing. At last a trickle came, and Kit's feet were running in place, impatiently, as he waited for the water to fill his cupped hands.

Finally, he raced back to the stove, dripping along the way, and by the time he made it to the stove he had just a sprinkle left to throw into the fire. In response, the flames waved at him as if to thank him for his effort.

Opening the door to vent the smoke would have brought too much attention. He went to open the window, which had no way to open. So, he took the chair, swung it high over his head and _smashed _it into the glass. The only thing that shattered was the chair.

Officially, it was time to panic.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, Don Karnage had stormed to the far reaches of the<em> Iron Vulture'<em>s aft, through the cramped, lesser traveled passages that led to the two great turbine engines.

"Ratchet!" shouted the wolf. The loud and clear reverberation of his own voice took him aback. The usually smokey and deafening space of wall-to-wall mechanical chaos was still. The churning things were not churning. The spinning things were not spinning. The things that rattled and hissed and roared were observing a long moment of silence. At least, however, the smelly things still smelled. To point, there was that heady gasoline odor, which Karnage followed to the far end of the room.

There he found Ratchet, on his stomach, at a grate removed from the floor. He was reaching shoulder deep into a pipe socket that was just about the girth of his arm. A long section of pipe that he had removed from the socket lay at his side, and both his overalls and the floor was slick and messy with engine fuel. Ratchet was practically swimming in it.

Karnage stood at the heels of his one mechanically-inclined lackey, and glared at them as if expecting them to speak. "Well?"

"Something's... _stuck_!" grunted Ratchet. "The line's clogged, choked the engines out... it's right... grr..." Several grumbled curses later, he shut his mouth tight, in deep concentration. His fingers had snagged something.

Finally, and with more than a little satisfaction, Ratchet pulled himself from the pipework and produced the offending item, and the source of all their present misery was at hand. "It's trash!" And so it was, a discarded ball of crumpled paper. "Some _dumb slob _tossed it the tank! Choked everything!"

"All this... for _that_?" Fists clenched and eyes bulging, all the captain could see was red. "What mutton-headed moron did this?"

Ratchet unfurled the goopy paper wad, and identified very faint but unmistakable print. "What the... it's a newspaper! What knucklehead had a newspaper around here?"

Karnage blinked. He may have recalled standing near the opened hatch to the fuel tanks while the _Iron Vulture _was being refueled at their "last port"; that is, they hijacked a tanker ship at sea and shuffled through the shipmen's belongings at their leisure until the gas tank was full. He may have recalled standing on the Vulture's flight deck, next to the fuel hatch, where a big hose was sucking fuel from one vessel to the other. He may have recalled having the newspaper in his hand at the time, turned to the funny pages. It was also quite possible that he may have recalled laughing the Donald Duck strip, crumbling the entire paper into a ball, and, being in a sporty mood, tossing the wadded ball through the hatch for two points.

"Who the heck can _read _on this boat?" asked Ratchet, the mystery heavy on his thoughts as he tried to think of each pirate in turn as a suspect. "Only time I see a paper is if you-!"

Karnage interrupted him by slapping the evidence out of his hand. "Who are you, _Sherlock House_? Figure out _this _mystery: why is my flying ship doing everything but _flying_?"

* * *

><p>While Ratchet got yelled at, Second Mate Will was in the hangar inspecting CT-37 attack planes and came across several that had little or no ammunition loaded. "All these planes are outta bullets, ya air-heads," he yelled, to any of his aviating counterparts within earshot. "How come nobody said nothin'?"<p>

Mad Dog was sitting on the floor, wrenching the lug-nuts tight on the landing gear on one of the planes. "That's _your _job," he said, snively.

"We ain't shot nothin' for two days," griped Will. "Where the hell the bullets _go_? Nobody ever tells me nothin' that goes on!" Over his shoulder, there was a lot of clanking and clunking. Will turned to see Kit dragging a large brass fire extinguisher twice his size from the galley and up the catwalk stairs, with emergency haste. Will groaned and walked the other direction. "I don't wanna know."

With huffs and puffs, Kit finally landed the extinguisher at Karnage's cabin door, where the smoke was seeping out, thicker than ever. When he pushed the door open, the smoke escaped in big black clouds, rushed down both ways through the corridor, and forced him to duck down the floor. So much for keeping this discreet, at any moment the entire ship would smell a fire.

Somewhere amidst the sting in his eyes, the suffocating stench in the air, and over all panic, he gripped the extinguisher fiercely and charged inside, but he would be left unclear as to what exactly happened next. It would have seemed that the nozzle hose of the extinguisher snapped loose from the tank, and there was unleashed big, foamy frenzy. The rodeo that ensued had the tank as the bucking bull and Kit the cowboy.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, on top of the shag rug. There was an awful chemical taste in his mouth, bitter and disgusting. Blurry sight came into focus, the ringing in his head quelled, and he noticed that the ceiling was a different color than before. It was also dripping.

He sat up. A different kind of blizzard had torn through the room, with the white of the extinguisher foam, gobs of it, everywhere. He glanced at his legs, his arms and his sweater, all of which looked like he was a porcelain statue.

Fingers of smoke still rose from the stove, but the fire was out. What a hollow victory. The furniture, the bed, the rug, the walls and ceiling, by smoke and foam there was nothing spared. The thick stench was painful to breathe and he coughed and coughed again.

He stood up and looked around at the mess surrounding him, and his lip quivered, when he thought about the _real _mess surrounding him, being when Don Karnage found out. He truly did not know what the captain would do to someone for something like this. He truly did not want to find out.

"I'm _toast,_" he mumbled in between coughs. Swimming to Thembria to hide forever wasn't out of the question. He feared what promise he had wished for in this brief time as aboard the _Iron Vulture _was already turned to dust and gone. In the face of this loss, there flashed before him the standard stages of grief:

Denial: _This... this isn't so bad! I can clean this up before he notices... yeah!_

Anger: _It's not my fault! Who leaves a stupid stove standing around that doesn't work!_

Bargaining: _I'll never do it again! I'll be good! No, I mean bad! Whatever a pirate's supposed to be!_

Depression: _What's the point of trying to fix it. Nobody cares what happens to me._

And, at last, acceptance: _How do I apply to the Foreign Legion?_

Kit stumbled into the corridor and pulled the door shut tight behind him, locking it with a turn of the hand wheel. From head to toe, he was as white as his own snowman effigy. He leaned on his knees and coughed more, gasping for sweet fresh air. His thoughts were rampant in panic. His pounding heart rattled in his chest when he heard Karnage's shouting down the hall, and it was getting closer.

_Run, run, run!_ screamed a voice inside Kit's head. _No, buy time! Stall him! _it then told him. _He doesn't know it was you!_ it said again. _But he'll find out! If you don't tell him now, it's only going to get worse!_

"Aaauugghh!" replied Kit.

He sped down the corridor and slid to a halt in Karnage's path. "Captain! Hi! Where you going?"

"What's it to you?" replied Karnage, sour as curdled milk. "And what-?" He eyed Kit up and down, the white mess, glassy eyes and nervous grin. Karnage was about to ask, but it turned out, exhausted as he was after a day like it had been, he _didn't care _what the boy had been up to.

"Never mind," groaned Karnage, and shoved Kit out of his way, stomping onward to throw himself on his bed and pull the pillow over his head, at least until the ship reached warmer latitudes. He sniffed at the air. "What is that _smell_?"

"Wait, what about the crown jewels?" asked Kit, pulling at the captain's coattails as if trying to stop a horse by the reins. "What are you doing up here? There's... there's... _plunder _waiting!"

Don Karnage only stopped long enough to swat Kit's hands off of him. "Stop that! And don't you ever talk about those cursed crown jewels!"

That must have meant the heist was nixed. No wonder Karnage was seething. Seething _already_. Kit felt his stomach turn to mush, and the strength in his knees was failing fast.

"Something is burning, go find out what," ordered Karnage.

Kit stammered. "But... but...!"

"Now!" snarled the wolf.

Kit stepped back, biting his lower lip. _Found it,_ he thought.

Karnage was at the homestretch to his cabin. _Run!_ cried that inner voice again, but it wasn't as if his brain had been giving him great advice lately. Instead, he ran after Karnage and lunged at his legs, grabbing onto the left.

"Captain, wait!" he pleaded. It was unabashed and blatant desperation, and it was all he had left.

"Where did your mind lose its marble bag, boy? Let go!" Shake him off as he tried, Kit was latched to his ankle, and was being dragged along the floor like a wet towel. A long white streak was being left in their tracks.

"We should talk!" cried Kit. "Get to know each other!"

"There is nothing to talk about!" Karnage had reached the cabin, Kit in tow, and threw open the door with one mighty, frustrated push. The sudden stink made him flinch and yelp.

From there, Kit just shut his eyes and lay his forehead against the cold steel floor. He went ahead and let go of Karnage's foot, too. He heard the wolf whimper, then the grinding of teeth, and for a moment, there was nothing. It was a short moment. Then, the ear... Karnage had grabbed himself a fistful of Kit's.

"Ow! Ow ow!" yelped Kit and he was being brought ever so not-gently to his feet, then higher yet when Karnage wrapped his clawed fingers around his ribs and slid him up the wall to meet him face-to-face.

"Perhaps _now _there is something to talk about!"

Kit's eyes were like saucers, though it was hard to tell in his present color. "Wh-what makes you think _I_ did it?" The wolf's grasp squeezed into him, with a growl that was more chilling than the weather. The confession gushed forth like water from an overturned pail: "I'm sorry! It was an accident! I'll clean it up, I swear! I'm really sorry!"

Karnage dropped him like a sack of cement mix. He staggered into the room, his scowl twisting from fury to confusion and back again. "An accident- how - you -!"

Kit gulped. He tried to explain, but his tongue was tied solid. Karnage was rarely at a loss for words, and watching him stammer around the room was frightening. It was like watching a volcano about to blow its top, and the blast was going to be far too severe to run from. He shielded himself with his arms, bracing himself.

A glob of foam dripped from the ceiling onto Karnage's snout. That did it. The _Iron Vulture_ was flooded by the _roar _of his fury.

The world had echoed it back at him. There was a great rumbling felt, and a sharp and mightily blow from above that made the entire airship bob deeper in the the water. The noise was loud and terrible, and terrifying. It seemed to be assaulting the ship from all sides; there was rolling, tumbling, scratching, like the _Iron Vulture _was being scourged by the earth itself, and outside the lone window of Karnage's cabin could be seen falling debris, snow and dirt and frozen foliage, sliding down in growing consistency, until the window was covered in solid gray.

Don Karnage stared at the window, his anger replaced wholly with dread. He tapped on the glass with his fingers, and once more a bit harder, as if hoping the snow would fall away. Then he pounded on it with his fist, hoping the same. It was a fool's hope.

Second Mate Will had galloped in from the bridge to find the captain, and by the time he arrived he was out of breath. "Boss! We can't see nothin' nowhere!"

Kit said nothing. He clasped his hands over his muzzle, fearful even his breathing would send down another avalanche.

Karnage's mouth bent down in a deep grimace. It was such an utter disaster that some small part of him wanted to laugh. He had almost forgotten about the cold, but now it seeped again into his thoughts and bones alike.


	2. Of bears and hares

**Chapter 2**

**Of bears and hares**

The beak-shaped prow of the _Iron Vulture _winced opened notch by notch in cranking, mechanical rhythm, its bottom jaw sinking into the dark water of the fjord. Water with chunks of ice and woodland debris lapped up the ramp it made, coming just short from flooding the hangar. The upper tip of the prow was much closer to the water than it usually would have been when the airship was afloat, so weighed down was it, and though the soft silver daylight bouncing from the water's crests was a welcome sight, there was not room to fit one of their attack planes to the outside. The plane lift that went from the hangar to the top deck was rendered useless as well, for when they tried to lower it, snow flooded the _Vulture's _gullet.

Don Karnage, Ratchet, and Second Mate Will launched a rowboat downstream to survey the damage. In special light of recent events, Kit was volunteered to do the rowing. They each had a raggedy, moth-eaten overcoat, accumulated pieces of plunder from long ago in a forgotten stash. Kit's was oversized for him, sleeves long over his hands and the bottom the same below his feet. He thought he was lucky to have it. In fact, from rumors he heard about the captain's temper, he thought he was lucky not to be a gurgling pile of fuzzy pulp.

The bank to the airship's starboard side was naught but one massive heap of snow. They rowed until the bank at last yielded some solid rocky ground, and landed the boat there. When they disembarked, they climbed the bank's slope and back around toward the ship, trekking up a mound as far as they could go before the snow was too deep at their knees (or waist, in Kit's case).

The mighty cliff of the fjord had claimed the ironclad airship for its own, casting down a mountain's worth of ice. New white peaks sprouted high over the entirety of the ship, where the prow, the flight deck and rotors were supposed to be. Only in the tip of the giant fin-shaped rudder, bearing Don Karnage's wolf-shaped skull and bone insignia, stood there evidence of a pirate ship somewhere underneath that massive snow pile.

"What'll we do," asked Ratchet, mouth agape. "Where do we even start...?"

"To start," said Karnage, arms and temperament crossed alike... and this decision was an easy one... "give the boy a shovel."

While the others didn't quite understand, Kit groaned miserably. His arms were sore and life was unlikely to get any easier for a long while. When he shifted his feet, the snow crunched between his toes, and now the chilly floors of the _Iron Vulture _didn't seem so chilly after all.

He thought snow was supposed to be soft and fun. That's the way it looked like on postcards, or how it was sung about in Christmas carols. Instead, it hard, wet, dirty, cold, cold, and cold.

"Shovels," muttered Will. "I think we got... one."

Ratchet ran his fingers under his cap, cocking his head to the side. "One? Just one?"

Will shrugged. "Maybe two. How much gardening to _you _do?"

In response, Ratchet spread his arms out toward their buried bird. "Ya didn't figure we'd ever need 'em for anything else?"

"Oh sure!" said Will, rolling his eyes. "Gettin' crushed by an iceberg, we all knew _that'd_ happen some day, didn't we? What about blow torches? Ya pack any extra of those?"

"Quiet!" commanded Don Karnage. "You will all dig it out with your filthy fingernails if you must!" He huffed and tugged his coat collar closer to his chin. "And, if it comes to that..." He turned to Kit, briskly, with a pointed finger at his nose. "No shovel for you!"

_Yep, still mad! _thought Kit, once Karnage had turned away.

A burst of explosive noises took them all by surprise, and with the instinct acquired of being chased and shot at by patrol boats and gunships, Karnage, Ratchet and Will dove for cover in the snow.

Kit blinked. "What's going on-yipe!" He was yanked by the arm to join the rest of them.

"Down, boy," hissed Karnage, pinning his shoulder to the ground. "Use your empty head for more than target practice."

The explosions were rapid, echoing off the many ridges around them and seemingly coming from several directions at once. The pirates poked their heads from the snow and scanned the fjord. The popping noises continued, but the fjord was empty, and any bullets punching into the snow would have been easy to see. They heard that some of the pops were fizzles, too, and some whistles.

Kit sneezed bits of ice from his nose. "Sounds like fireworks," he said, with a sniffle.

The pirates rose and looked to the sky. Behind the ridge to their backs, the overcast twinkled in distant, faint colors, red and orange and blue, each color burning for only a second of glory with its own coinciding crackle.

The booming reverberations of what could only be the engines of a large and heavy aircraft rushed at them as quick and surprisingly as a tidal wave. Above them, crashing most indifferently through a line of trees on the high ridge, a whale-sized Thembrian jumbo seaplane burst onward into sky. The deafening roar of its four oversized propellers made their bones and eardrums rattle alike. The hold within its thick iron fuselage was heavily laden with cargo, apparent by how it seemed to crawl and struggle its way upward, as if feebly grasping at the very sky for help.

"Well," sighed Don Karnage, when the plane was far enough away that he could hear himself think, "don't just stand there, stand _there_!" He pointed up higher, to the peak of the ridge. Complaints were muttered, but no one argued that they needed to know what was on the other side.

Their only blessing was that the snow had stopped falling, but even that did little good for what already blanketed the ground. Hidden underneath the frosty fluff were stones and branches, tangled weeds and uneven ground. Thus, their climb was slow and time consuming, and the sky was darkening. Their footprints left long zig-zag patterns as they found and ascended the shallowest slopes. By the time they reached their destination, the frost had clung to far more than their feet.

Karnage was the first to reach the top and Kit the last, his teeth chattering. The captain was sneering at what he saw.

Before them was a pale bay, surrounded by a cauldron-shaped valley. A narrow mouth between two ridges to the north joined it to the open sea. Ice-capped cliffs towered starkly from the gray water, parting in several places where many of the surrounding rivers, each from their own winding path, met at the bay as the arms of an octopus' arms come to its head.

On the far shore, nestled before the shoulders of a snow-laden cliff at the edge of the valley, was the tiny kingdom of Polaria. It was a sprawling village in front of an aged gray castle, Snowshine Keep, itself a rising cluster of four tall towers surrounded by a mighty wall, which was (as quite noticeable to any observing pirate) armed with cannons peeking from some of the crenels.

The village streets were abundantly lit with gas lamps, their soft glow each adding to the other, and from the other side of the harbor it all looked to be like glistening gold coins upon a velvet white blanket. Randomly, firecrackers were being set off in the village streets and from the castle walls, lighting the streets with bursts of rainbow colors.

The bustle of the kingdom spread into the harbor in a shipyard and a network of docks, where among many other boats was moored the kings steamship and its silver prow. Hence, Karnage's sneers.

"Boss, I hate to bring it up," said Will. "But if we're gonna get our bird up anytime soon, we might have to get a few things from town. You know... honest-like."

A visible shudder went up Karnage's spine, and it was more than the temperature. It was said that prayer is the last refuge of a scoundrel, and such was with pirates and anything following a phrase such as _honest-like_. The wolf said nothing, brooding with his breath billowing from his nose in a stream of fog.

"Ain't no point," said Ratchet. "No way we're gonna just sail inta port, and no one's gonna carry a bunch of shovels up this mountain."

Kit shrunk away from them before Karnage volunteered him for that, too.

"I didn't say shovels," snapped Will.

"Then what?"

Will crossed his arms and turned a shoulder away from the mechanic. "_Maybe _shovels."

"So, what, we're going shopping?" Kit asked Will. It seemed like some type of violation of the pirate handbook, if there was such a thing. "Can we do that?"

Karnage's left ear perked up when he heard that. "You? No," he said. He began to pace in circles around Kit, and made flourishing gestures at Mother Nature. "Take a whiff of the fresh air, boy! _*sniiiiiiff!*_ Fantastical, no? And listen! The chirpetty-chirp of the birdies! Feel the wind! Look at the sky! Look how big it is! The great big sky and the gr_rr_eat _stinking _outdoors!"

_Uh-oh,_ thought Kit, as Karnage's voice had become a shout.

"Look at it all now, you insolent imp, because even after you mop, you scrub, and you wash every teeny tiny inch of my room back to sparkling splendor, there will be gray hair coming out of your egg-headed ears before you see it ever again!"

Don Karnage had shouted himself out of breath, and under his glower Kit seemed to have shrunk to half his own size, and the oversized coat made him seem even smaller. Will and Ratchet were silent at stones, and had cautiously backed away for their own sake. Without a word or gesture for any of them to follow, Karnage started back the way they came. Before he got far, he swung back around on his heel and spat out, "And if you ever find you are having any fun, stop it!"

Ratchet buried his snout in his arm to muffle his snickering. "The brat's grounded! Ha!"

Karnage turned and glared at Kit like _he _had said something. "How would you like _grinded_," he said, squeezing the fist into the palm of his other hand.

"Fine," scoffed Kit. All the overbearing threats were starting to sting. "I'll stay inside and you can row your own stupid boat."

"Shut it, kid," was muttered as a word of warming from Will. Ratchet elbowed him in the ribs, and said, "Let 'em go. A buck says this'll be worth watchin'."

"You will row if I tell you to row!" insisted Karnage.

"Then make up your mind!" retorted Kit. "I can't be everywhere!"

"You can when I tear you into itty bitty bite-size pieces of bear!"

Oh, how Kit should have bit his tongue. Instead, he stuck it out. He might as well have flashed a red matador's cape to taunt a raging bull, because Karnage was charging full sprint at him, kicking heaps of snow in his tracks.

The feral eyes of the arctic woods had seen for ages foxes chasing hares. A red wolf chasing a bear was something new. The hare would run because it would be devoured if it was caught. At the moment the bear could relate. Kit slipped out of that oversized coat so fast that it stood there upright after it was empty. Karnage trampled it over and lunged after Kit's heel, and Kit tread so fast that his feet barely seemed to touch the snow.

The chase took them further across the ridge, leaving Ratchet and Will behind in the echos of Kit's yelps and Karnage's curses. At the end, Kit had gained the lead; he elected a tall pine and shimmied up to the high branches.

Don Karnage arrived at the base of the tree in a breathless waddle. "Get down here, boy!"

"No way! Not until you calm down!" shouted the reply.

"Who, me? I am _overflowing _with the calmness!" said Karnage, nearly frothing at the mouth. The captain's arms were open wide, and welcoming as the razor sharp jaws of a bear trap. "Jump!" he said with a forced and fake smile, then added with a growl, "_I'll catch you_."

"What... what happens if I climb down?" asked Kit.

"I am going to smack you sillier than a slobbering seal!" cried Karnage.

"Yeah, I'll stay here," said Kit, after mulling that decision for about zero seconds.

Karnage jumped and caught hold of a low hanging branch, but it was quick to break holding his weight. He cursed the tree, but then noticed he had a nice switch in his hand, which he swashed around menacingly like he was prone to do with his cutlass. He hid it behind his back, as if Kit wouldn't notice, and forced another beaming smile as he looked up. "It's h'okey-dokey, boy. Look at me not being angry!"

Somehow, despite such a warm invitation, Kit was a little more than skeptical and climbed to an even higher, albeit thinner, branch.

"Last chance!" promised Karnage. He swung out his cutlass, which _really _got Kit's attention. The mirror-like polish of the blade flashed silver as Karnage swung it across the trunk of the tree, repeatedly, each strike taking a tiny notch of frozen bark. But after several strikes, his arm was too tired for more, and he had barely made a scratch.

"It's not that uncomfortable up here," said Kit, to himself. "R-really! I'll just... live here and... eat pine cones."

Karnage stepped back, then made a running leap at the tree. His boot caught the bark and boosted himself higher than before, and grabbed on to a thicker branch, one that did not break.

"Ah-ha!" he wheezed. Without much speed, he took careful strides upward branch by branch.

"Uh-oh," frowned Kit. When he looked up, he had little room further to climb. Below, the captain was making steady progress. He was cornered. A frost covered pine cone hung as his shoulder; he picked it and was about to heave it down at Karnage's cranium... but for once, in light of the consequences, he thought better of it, and chucked it off into the distance.

"Yeow!" yelped Ratchet from afar. "The hell did _that _come from...?"

Karnage's efforts were jostling the entire tree, and the branch under Kit's legs suddenly creaked. "Captain, wait!" warned Kit. "Stop!"

Karnage only cackled at him, pulling himself to yet another bough. "Too late for that, my boy!" He ignored the green needles scratching his face and the sound of the wood slowly snapping fiber by fiber under each hand and foot.

Kit pawed above his head to find more to climb, but at the top of the pine there was hardly anything larger than twigs and sprouts. He gulped. The upper half of the tree suddenly bent to one side and leaned until Kit could see down over the ridge. That finally got Karnage's attention, too, and with more caution now he wrapped his arms and legs around the trunk, much thinner now than where he started, wherever he could fit them over and under the branches.

When he saw that Kit was struggling to hold on, the wobbling treetop about to whip him loose, he realized that he had to climb no more. He gripped the trunk with both hands, not unlike he would the boy's neck instead, and shook.

With each shake, Kit lost more grip and footing, and shimmied down inch by inch, futility grasping and clinging to whatever he could, however he could. When he looked down, the captain grinned like a hungry crocodile waiting to catch his dinner, and the distance between them was closing fast. At last, with more great throttle, Karnage had Kit within reach, and swiped for the boy's ankle. Kit cried out, swung his legs away and dodged, but that was more than enough for the meager sprouts clenched in his fingers.

The victory for Karnage was a fleeting one, lasting half a heartbeat; he _did _finally catch the boy, but with his face. Gravity took over for them both.

The pine had branches on every side, but they didn't seem to miss any of them on the way down. Their cries were accented by _oofs _and _ows_, while they ricocheted from bough to bough like two pinballs, and plummeted into the snow with a hail of needles and splinters.

Though they landed with a thud that each felt flatten their spleen, the ground had hardly stopped them. Kit blinked to find himself riding on top of Don Karnage's chest like a toboggan, over the lip of the ravine, down the banks of the fjord, toward the water.

Wide, confused eyes from Karnage met Kit's as slush spewed from behind his ears and down his coat collar. If Kit could read the captain's face, it asked what was happening; if Karnage could read in reply Kit's terror-stricken maw frozen in a silent scream, the answer was he didn't want to know.

Just before the brink, there was a great slushy explosion where they crashed into the thick of a snow bank, where Karnage stopped but Kit tumbled onward, rolling into the frigid water.

"Co-OLD!" shrieked Kit as his head broke the surface. He scurried back to shore, the icy sting biting him in places he didn't know where there. He rubbed his arms and hugged himself, gasping shrill cries.

In front of him lay what was left showing of Karnage, a lone black boot sticking out of a snow pile. "C-c-captain?" His teeth chattered and his hand was shivering as he reached out to the boot. He gave it a yank, and it was missing a foot. More so, it was missing an entire pirate.

A pained moan came from the next snow pile over, and there was Karnage's bare foot, along with the rest of him. The deep impression he made was a deformed snow angel, something more like a snow accordion.

Kit swallowed a lump - or an ice cube, it was hard to tell - and approached the captain in tiny, timid steps. "Are you ok-k-kay? C-captain? Uh... s-sir? Captain sir?"

"Boy...?" rasped Karnage, a thin fog floating from his lips.

Kit smiled, shakily, holding the boot out as a peace offering. "I g-got your shoe."

Karnage lifted a weak, trembling hand to him. "Come... come closer, boy."

"Are y-you okay?" asked Kit. He knelt down beside him, trying to fight his shivering. "Are you still ma-ack!"

Like a striking cobra, Karnage's hand sprung forth and snagged Kit by the neck.

From far above, all Will and Ratchet could see of them was a blurry, whirling tornado of snow and fur. It was also the loudest, crankiest, and growling-est tornado they ever heard.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Will, and handed over to Ratchet a silver dollar.


	3. Plunderful and wonderful

**Chapter 3**

**Plunderful and wonderful**

A wet mop plopped against the floor for the fifty-third time, was swashed around in circles for the fifty-third time, and was dunked in a pail for the fifty-third time. When it was soaked and plopped down for the fifty-fourth time, the room had barely looked any better than from the very first time.

Progress in cleaning Don Karnage's cabin was slow, much slower than the coming and passing of midnight. Without a clock it would have been hard to judge the late hour even if the broadside window had not been covered solid, for at the present time of year Polarian night was scarcely darker than a deep, lingering twilight.

The extinguisher foam was caked layers of dingy white powder and crust, where the crust was powdery and the powder was crusty. It took a fondness to the room and was intent to stay for a long time.

Kit had moved the furniture out first, a long and aching task all to itself, then set upon the bare steel walls and floor. He made use of the red scarf tied around his neck to keep the taste out of his mouth. As the hours passed and his toil did not, he had plenty of time to recount his to-do list: mop the floor, wipe the walls, get a ladder, clean the ceiling, scrub the furniture, launder the clothes, pillows and blankets, unscrew and hide the ailerons from Karnage's favorite plane, move all the furniture back in, find fire ants, make the bed, douse the bed with the ants, and wipe down the window.

Yes, he thought, he would do those things in that exact order. Not that he was bitter.

He mopped. He mopped some more. He changed the bucket water. He mopped. This cycle repeated, _plop, swash, dunk,_ uninterrupted, until morning. It must have been sometime after six o'clock when he finally stole a nap.

A rumbling woke him later. It was not another avalanche, this sound was familiar. They were turning on the engines up top. He rubbed his eyes and checked the window, which was still opaque under a curtain of ice. It sounded like the captain was going to force the ship free.

There was revving and whirring, the welcome reverberations that were usually followed by his feet feeling the rolling of the ocean shift into a firm pitch, and where his knees felt the fight against gravity as the ship climbed upward into the sky. This time, it was not to be. Instead there were noises of cracking and breaking, and the engines were cut as quickly as one pulls the plug from a wall socket. So much for that idea.

Of more important matters, the smell of bacon and beans hooked his nostrils and reeled in his nose. He was helpless not to follow the line. The radiators were back on, thus the ship was not quite the icebox it had been yesterday; it was more like a refrigerator instead of a freezer. There was clamoring from the hangar, the whole crew seemed to be up and busy. Kit took small consolation that he wasn't the only one busting his hump.

The galley was empty when he got there, save for one they called Sully, who was often the cook, laid out and snoring on one of the benches. The food was gone, the tables cluttered with dirty mugs and bowls. Usually each pirate had to buss his own dishes to the scullery; those left were no doubt _his _to take care of. It was going to be a lovely day.

"Oi! Ya missed breakfast," snorted Sully, coming to. He was a stunted sand-colored terrier with an eyepatch, a limp, and a gray mustache of long shaggy fur drooping from his snout. "Ol' cap'n thought ya'd come 'round, he wanted me to give ya somethin', just for you."

Kit gladdened, stomach first, and thought that was something decent of the captain, to save him a plate. Maybe he'd scratch the fire ants off his list. That was still a big maybe.

Sully presented him with a toothbrush that had all but six bristles left to it.

"What's this for?" came the obvious question.

Sully shrugged. "He said ya'd need somethin' to scrub these dishes with."

Yes, one lovely, hell of a day.

"Appreciate it," sneered Kit. "You wouldn't know where I could find fire ants, would you?"

"Oh! An' this!" Next, Sully handed him a toothpick.

"Then what's _this _for?" asked Kit. "Don't tell me. He wants me to scrape the grime off the hull with it!"

"Close," said Sully. "The latrines."

A queasy and audible shudder was the only reply Kit could muster.

Having delivered the message, Sully left him be. "Too far," muttered Kit, throwing the toothpick and toothbrush across the hall. "I'll show him, I'll show him good," he swore, with foul unspoken oaths simmering and frothing from deep within, but not from his belly, because that one part of him that was empty.

Two apples he scrounged from the kitchen, and was halfway through the second when Ratchet poked his head in the room, being sure not to get closer than needed.

Ratchet's demeanor was not overtly cruel like some of the others in the gang, but he had always regarded Kit as if the boy were a pustulent disease with legs. If he ever had to talk to him, it was usually with impatience and an air of disgust. His words were short and heavy with want of ending the conversation before it began.

"We're headin' out," he said. "Capt'n wants his pet downstairs."

"Can't you kiss him goodbye _for _me?" Speaking of which, Kit would have rather kissed the back end of a skunk than be anywhere near the the captain.

"You're goin'," was all Ratchet said before he was out of sight.

_Goin', which means rowin', _Kit thought with a deep scowl. His arms ached anew.

Ratchet must have heard him thinking. The mechanic poked his head back in, with an amused grin. "Don't worry, you ain't rowin' this time."

That actually piqued Kit's interest. Maybe Karnage had lightened up a little bit, and he did want to get out of the _Vulture _something awful.

With several shortcuts, taken from his own map of stair rails and open shafts to slide down, he handily beat Ratchet to the hangar. What he saw made him smile. He felt a tingle that for once was not the circulation in his sore feet. It was excitement.

Yesterday the pirates had set a row boat to the water from the _Iron Vulture's _prow. Today, it was the submarine.

The orange-painted iron vessel was rusty, dented and scraped, with rivets and seams scarred where welding had been done many times over. It had a periscope, a big propeller on the back and a metal arm with a scissor-like claw on the front. Kit counted it as the _thirteenth _most awesome thing he had seen on the airship, right after all twelve airplanes. It had always been stored in the back corner of the hangar, hung in its own wheeled harness, covered under sheets. He had never seen it used before. Was he going to ride in it?

Kit met the captain, Will, and others at the prow, where the submarine was being launched. He asked Will what they were going to look for with it.

"Ideas," the brown fox shrugged.

They were brainstorming escape plans from the mountain of snow that had locked them in as part of the landscape. From the strength of ideas, it was not much of a brainstorm... perhaps more of a mind-drizzle.

There was a smell of singed fur in the air; Mad Dog and Dumptruck that morning had tried to pour and light gasoline over the snow to melt it away. That was why they were presently sulking sourly on a couple of crates, minus their whiskers and eyebrows.

Trying to spin the engines underneath the snow had proven to be a disaster, but since it was Karnage's idea, no one talked how many rotors may have been destroyed in that attempt.

Using shovels and picks to dig out the rotors was still an option, if they could land the supplies. It might have taken days, however, and Don Karnage, wanted a faster solution.

Gibber whispered an idea in the captain's ear, but that was dismissed as well. "Where would we find enough salt shakers?" was Karnage's response.

Dumptruck's eyes suddenly lit like a light bulb had been switched on inside his head. "Wait! I got it! I _got _it!" he exclaimed, but in his excitement he must have toggled the switch again, and the light was out. "Er, I _had _it," he pouted, and resumed slouching.

Hal said that they should build a giant flamethrower and burn the cliff down to a stub. Everyone roused wit a_"harr!" _to that idea. It was too bad no one knew how to invent one.

Kit remembered what he had learned from Hacksaw on Pirate Island. "What about dynamite?" he piped.

The crew exchanged glances, while Karnage stroked the fur on his chin. "Blast it, eh?"

From out of nowhere, Hacksaw screeched on his heels to a halt in their midst. "B-blast?! Whatcha wanna blast, cap'n, huh? Pick me! I can blast! I can blast!"

By then Ratchet had arrived, and he had the same overcoats from yesterday to give to Will and the captain, but not before he huffily stepped in, affronted that any of them were about to take cues on the matter from a rabid pyromaniac and a ten-year-old. "We ain't gotta do nothin' 'cept get 'nough snow off for the props to spin," he said. "This bird'll lift off with the rest. Go stickin' dynamite to blow up snow, an' ya blow the props with it!"

"Well, what about _smaller _dynamite?" Will asked Hacksaw. "Ya got anything like that?"

Hacksaw frowned at him. A word like 'smaller' used to describe dynamite was sheer heresy, and he backed out from the group and ran away, screaming for his life, before the blasting gods smote them to dust.

"I guess not," sighed Will.

"But Polaria does," said Kit. "They have all sorts of sizes, right? The fireworks!"

"Fireworks, eh?" contemplated Karnage, still attending his chin.

"Firecrackers _ain't _the same thing," explained Ratchet. "They ain't made outta the same stuff."

"Ya! Dey make der purdy colors when they go ka-blooey!" chimed in Dumptruck, who had suddenly forgotten his grief over his lost eyebrows.

"Ka-blooey, eh?" mused Karnage. Everyone watched him, waiting for a decision. He shrugged and slipped in his overcoat. "We'll see," is all he said, and gestured for Will and Ratchet get in the submarine.

"Oh boy, we're goin' to see der fireworks," giggled Dumptruck gleefully while the crew dispersed.

"No we _ain't_, Dump-face," argued Ratchet after him.

Kit had kept a cautious distance from the captain, lest any attention make the captain think of more chores for him to slave over. "I'm almost done," he said, before Karnage could ask. "I worked on it all night."

"_Almost_? I would be keeping my calendar _clear_ if I were you, boy," replied Karnage, then jerked his thumb toward the submarine. "Get to hopping inside."

It was with great effort that Kit only regarded the submarine with an incurious glance, and stifled the urge to run at it shouting _whee_! "Oh, did you want me to go?"

"Why, I was never going to leave without you, son," smiled Karnage. His pleasantness gave Kit pause, for it was such pleasantness that it must have been an insult. It was a but a short pause, however, before Kit had ran past the others and was the first to climb inside.

"This is great! It's... tiny." His voice trailed; the inside wasn't much bigger than a cockpit. But, he shrugged off that last sentiment, as Don Karnage, Will, and Ratchet boarded. Kit jumped from side to side, looking out the windows. "Can we see old shipwrecks in here? What about sunken treasure? I think I see a fish! What's this do?" He pulled a lever on the front console and the vessel started to sink. While everyone stumbled and cursed at him, he was quick to push it back into place. "Oh. That's what it does." Then got out of Ratchet's way before he was shoved aside.

"Full stream ahead!" ordered Karnage. "That's _you_, boy."

"Aye aye!" Kit glanced around the console, looking for a particular button or key. "How do you turn it on?"

"From the driver's seat, of course," smirked Karnage, speaking of the wheel-less bicycle in the back, that Kit had only just noticed. Chains attached to the cycle 's gears were rigged the same on the other end to another cluster of gears that made up the "engine."

"I... just remembered," said Kit, weaker in the knees than he was just a second ago, "I get sea sick. I better leave."

Will had just closed the top hatch, and sealed it shut with a turn of the wheel lock.

"Sit, pedal, and shut up," said Karnage.

"But what if I throw up on your shoes? Think about it! Here we are, and all the sudden, bleeeech!"

Karnage recoiled with a cringe, the boy's theatrics not lost on him, particularly how he demonstrated with is hands how the arc of fluid would spew from his mouth to everything else. It didn't do much to change his mind. "I said sit!" he barked, pointing to the bicycle seat.

Kit twisted his face in the dirtiest, angriest glare he could make possible, but it was undone in a beat when Karnage _thunked _him on the brow with a flick of his finger.

"Ow!"

"Sometime _today _would be making it wonderful!" growled Karnage.

Kit mounted the rigged bicycle frame with no love lost. With his pedaling, the gears within the vessel churned and squeaked, and they were off, albeit slowly.

Ratchet seemed to know what he was doing with the console up front, and was controlling their depth and direction with turns of various levers. The dancing crests of light of the water's surface skimmed just over the front window, and Don Karnage had his eye on the periscope.

"Faster, boy," said Karnage. "There are _sea snails _passing us!"

"Faster, sure," panted Kit. He closed his eyes and leaned further over the handlebars. "I'm gonna pretend that I'm running you over."

"Pretend you slept in your own bed last night and did not wake up with a _cucharacha _on your nose!"

"Pretend that you _got _to sleep last night."

"Pretend having to feed forty ugly faces every day and listening to the whining from your whelpy mouth!"

"Pretend sitting in a submarine getting yelled at by a guy who's breath smells like moldy guacamole!"

"Pretend sitting at all when I bust my boot on your-!"

"Whoa!" shouted Will, covering his ears. "Can we save some for _outside _this sardine can?"

"_He_ started it," huffed Kit and Karnage.

Their route took them several turns following the fjord's channel, and eventually into where the outlet opened to the sea. From there, they followed the coast east, and into what was called Snowshine Harbor. Karnage had chosen the submarine to cross the harbor without being noticed by fishermen or, worse yet, curious guards.

"I... can't go anymore," panted Kit, at length. In a dripping heap of sweat, he rolled off the bicycle frame and sprawled flat on his back, arms limp over his head. "Lock me up. Feed me to sharks. I don't care. I quit."

The submarine came to a halt with a sudden bump, being the bottom of the hull skidding into the shallows of shore.

"Land ho-o!" announced Karnage in a sing-song tone, not inconspicuously amused. While pulling the periscope all the way down, he cleared his throat and made a further announcement: "Attention all hands, before dis-barking, please be minding to wipe your filthy feet before stepping on the new bear-skin rug!"

"Unghrn," replied the rug.

The submarine was surfaced and anchored at a cove hidden from the castle's eyes by distance and winding shoreline. Don Karnage, Ratchet and Will respectively climbed out the top and leapt onto a beach of black pebbles and bits of broken snowflakes. The crunching under their footsteps seemed loud compared to the mildly lapping water and soft rustle of pines.

Then smaller hands curled around the lip of the hatch, and Kit poked his head outside, taking a deep breath. Despite the temperature, the air was fresh was smelled considerably much more pleasant than, say, moldy guacamole. Tired or no, there was no way he was going to just wait for them in that tiny tin can.

Karnage led the pack, draped in his dark overcoat, hiking up a forested hill. While climbing the slopes involved more leg work, it was the shortcut over following the shoreline.

Behind the captain, Ratchet and Will were engaged in a less-than-philosophical debate about the _Danger Woman _radio show. They were talking about the extra characters, specifically one named Stu, who was only mentioned once in an episode and never actually had any lines.

"It was just a one-time gag, ya dolt," said Ratchet. "Danger Woman says, 'I'm lookin' for _Stu_.' The bartender says, 'Sorry, all we got are _drinks _here.' Then the jokes over an' no one's s'posed to _care _who Stu is."

Will expounded his point of view with a finger raised thoughtfully: "But Stu's there! Just 'cause we don't know, don't mean he ain't important. He's gotta be doin' somethin' with himself, right? What's Stu know? What's he do? He could be interestin', and we'd never know it."

"I could give a rat's patootey," was Ratchet's philosophical reply.

"You know what I really can't stand," mused Will further, "those episodes where they don't even got the best characters on."

To that point, Ratchet shrugged in agreement. "Or when they're only pipe in a few lines, just to keep up appearances. Danger Woman's a tough broad, I guess, but it ain't like no one ever gets sick of 'er hoggin' the limelight."

"Yeah!"

Kit, following at a distance, for both weariness and lack of want to be much closer, silently agreed. He rather liked Danger Woman's sidekick, who he thought was terribly under-used and could have well been the star of the show.

Over the hill, the downward slope was gentle, and through the trees they saw the village ahead. In clearings they passed some old abandoned barns, with rusty iron equipment strewn about and forgotten. Among the trees they found a path of beaten earth that led them straight into the village, which began as soon as the trees ended. They came to a lumber mill first, where a water wheel on the side of a red painted cabin churned slowly in a stream.

As Will had mentioned earlier, their intent was to decide how to free the _Iron Vulture_. They would split up and see what the town had to offer. Karnage had with him, to his chagrin, money to make legitimate purchases if they found anything helpful. Robbery, plundering, raiding, dogfighting, chaos,... all the fun things about pirating were iced as long as their airship was. The overcoat he wore was as much a disguise as much an extra layer of warmth.

While not much of a vacation destination, Polaria did get its share of visitors through merchant ships, and sometimes seaplanes, but it had no runway for aircraft, nor track for train. The roads leaving the kingdom were unpaved, ancient and often treacherous, and autos were a rare sight, but old fashion horse-and-wagon prevailed for traveling to the villages beyond.

The sky was clear that day, only a few a few scattered clouds. The sun was bright and high over the valley peaks, and its warmth was only appreciated in that they were only very cold, but not chattering icicles off their chins.

Past the mill, the pirates were walking through a residential cluster, shuffling with light feet down the street like a tiny parade that they hoped no one would watch. They were receiving stares from some, for they were obviously not recognized from the neighborhood. The only fanfare given to their arrival was when an elderly husky woman threw out a bucket of waste water from her front door.

The village was old, lacking the steel and concrete of the modern cities, but sizable as far as villages went. The buildings were mostly gray brick and mortar, trimmed in timber, and in some places so close together that the little, twisting alleyways they made between them were not even a shoulder's length wide. No structure but the castle rose more than two floors, though most had steeply pointed roofs of black slate shingles that made it look like there was an extra floor on top.

The streets were dark gray cobblestone, with gutters full of dirty snow, and there was some semblance of sidewalks the closer they got to the markets. There were no cars to yield to, but horse-pulled carts and sometimes bicycles were in the busier routes.

Where they came to an intersection of streets in the middle of the village, a bakery to their left and a fish market to their right, they split up. Ratchet went to peruse the shipyards. Will followed pillars of black smoke to a small smithing district. As for Karnage, well, he went his own way. Kit was stuck staring through the storefront window of confectionery, salivating at the rainbow of candy and sweet scent of chocolate.

The vast count of Polaria's local townsfolk were bears, wolves, foxes and huskies, most with fur color of cool arctic shades. They crowded the market street before the castle gates with celebration. At ever corner there seemed to be musicians playing their tunes, dancing, revelry and occasionally the _pop _of a firecracker. Wheeled carts with cold food and beer kegs were abundant. Banners tied to the street lamps read of a Summer Festival. Don Karnage walked toward the castle, sweeping what trampled snow under his heels that still remained on the cobblestone. For the record, he thought all these people were all a bunch of idiots.

At the castle gates, Karnage turned the corner to the right. The path went downhill, where humble timber hovels encroached upon giant castle wall. Icicles clung to roof shingles as great beards of frost, the way shaded and icy like a mountain cavern. Here is seemed the sun rarely out-shone the castle's shadow.

The inn he arrived at had the smell of hot food, and sounds of badly played piano music an raucous laughter swelling from the swinging double doors. The sign handing out front read _The Frozen Gullet_. Karnage opened the doors just enough to scan the crowd inside.

A vixen wench carried big glass mugs of red ale around the tables, a skill of strength and balance; each hand had about six mugs, with not a drop of the foamy heads spilled. She carried herself even better, so Karnage was content to note. A hare innkeeper with a scar over his lips and half his left hear amiss tended to a simmering pot of vegetable stew over a stove. He was serving big spoonfuls to customers in the hollows of half-loafs of bread. While not his favorite dish, Karnage's stomach grumbled for it and its welcoming warmth. In his pocket, coins jingled at his fingertips, but all he could think about his how under most circumstances he could merely _take _what he wanted, not have to pay like some... _customer_.

He never knew the innkeeper, but he just _hated _him now.

The content smack of lips licking fingers turned his attention behind him, where Kit was gorging on chocolate bars. He had so many that he had to hold some under his arms while his hands fed him the rest.

"Where did you get that?" asked Karnage.

Kit shrugged. "Someone left it laying around their store," he said. Handfuls of gumballs, lollipops and licorice sticks fell from the bottom of his sweater. "Those too."

Karnage laughed, but shut himself up just as quickly, and turned on his heels to ignore the boy as if he was interrupted in watching something important in the distance.

Kit nudged into him and offered him an unopened chocolate bar. "Truce?"

The amused expression on the wolf's face made it hard to read a yea or nay to the question. It was either some glimmer of forgiveness, or for some other penalty he had planned when Kit least expected it. He swallowed the entire bar in just two quick bites. "Mm nmn," was his reply, while his mouth was stuffed.

"S-summer my pont-t-toons," said Kit, teeth chattering, remembering the banners on the street lamps. Absent an extra coat like the other pirates, he rubbed and patted his arms up and down after wiping the last smudge of chocolate from his lips with his sleeve. The smell of hot food from the tavern beside him was not to go unnoticed. "That smells g-good," he sighed.

A groan came from Karnage, and, having not found whom he was looking for, he began again toward the busy street, but not before a silver quarter flipped over his shoulder. Kit, surprised, caught it with both hands. "Go inside, boy," the captain told him. "Who is supposed to _think _out here with all your clackity-clack?"

"Gee, thanks," smiled Kit, and he was inside the doors in a flash... but out again before the doors had even stopped swinging. He felt guilty. Not that he thought he _should _have, but he did. Karnage had a pocket full of coin, but he also had in his other pocket a roll of Uslandian greenbacks... that is, he _had _had it. Kit had it now, and at the time he thought it was a fair exchange for the chocolate bar.

"Hey, wait!" He called after Karnage at met him near the street. "You, uh... _dropped _this."

Patting his right overcoat pocket and finding it empty, the captain gave him a look and he held out his hand, expectantly. When Kit gave him back the roll of money, Karnage stuffed back in his pocket, and held his hand out his hand again, impatiently tapping his toes.

"Aw, geez," Kit scoffed, and surrendered the quarter as well.

A trumpeted fanfare blasted through the street. "Make waaaaay for the king!" someone bellowed.

The crowd on the cobblestone began to part to either side. Further down, heads and shoulders disappeared to bows and curtsies, a rolling wave of courtesies that was getting closer to the castle gates. There came the royal procession, beginning with members of the Guard, thirteen of them. Their uniform was thick red woolen coats, black breeches, and black furry caps. Each had a musket hung over his shoulder, a saber at his waist, and carried a ceremonial silver spear. They rode tall on the backs of frost colored Clydesdale draped in silk red and white sheets, bearing the snowflake emblem of the kingdom in silver thread.

On a great pine coach, pulled by eight Clydesdale horses, came the royal family, white-furred bears each of them: King Klondike, Queen Snowflower, and the young Prince Nanuk.

The king wore a purple coat with gold buttons, and a golden sash draped from his shoulder. He wore no crown in this appearance, and there was no sign of his jeweled regalia. In jolly abandon he waved and blew kisses to his adoring public, and basked in the noise of their cheers.

The queen donned a woolen white coat, soft as a cloud and white as her fur, trimmed in pearl beads and buttons adorned with diamonds that matched the tiara atop her head. Her long, jet black hair was pulled and tied, falling over her shoulder. She was slender in contrast to her royal husband's robust width, and waived at the crowd in a learned and formal manner where her fingers merely seemed to rotate back and forth from her dainty wrist.

Then, between them, was the his Royal Highness, Prince Nanuk. The hair over his brow that was neatly combed to the side, and was dressed in a purple coat like his father, but was far from sharing the king's merry mood. He ignored the crowd and slouched crossly.

Watching them approach, Don Karnage was the most on par with the prince's demeanor. When his "turn" came to bow, he stood straight and crossed his arms instead. He would have spat if he thought it would not have drawn the guards on himself. It made his stomach turn, the sight and thought of them: the king's smugness, him with his precious jewels in his castle, the queen's pretentiousness, her and her pretty little tiara and annoying wave, and the prince's spoiled-ness, him and his pouty... face.

The face. There was a puzzle about it. Karnage began to eye the prince intently. He had _seen _that face before. But when had he ever come across a prince and not known it? When? _Where_?

Had he once brought down a plane that had the prince on it? Did someone hide a ransom like that under his nose? It bothered him more than he thought it should, having ever seen one dumb kid you had probably seen all of them, but some piratey intuition was just gnawing at him.

The giant iron portcullis of the castle's gate opened a notch at a time, and the procession came to a halt with the flourished hand signal from the lead guard. While they waited for the gate to rise, Karnage got his best look. He thought of many faces, from the present, to the past and back again... to the very present. He _had _seen that face before.

The boy. Yesterday. Covered in that stinking white foam.

From Kit's point of view, this was all awfully confusing. Karnage was suddenly looking at him, _studying _him, like he was a green eyeballed blob that just crawled out of a swamp. "What?" he asked.

Twitching black eyebrows were the wolf's only reply. Without a word, but with much anxiousness, Karnage pushed past a few locals to the nearest gutter. On his hands and knees, he scavenged for handfuls of snow, clawing it up as if he expected to find hidden diamonds. He came back to Kit with a pile that was half snow and half dirt.

That little voice that before told Kit to _run!_ had come calling again. Had he listened to it more often lately, he may have been a bit happier. The captain was bringing him the snow. The captain had lost his mind.

"What are you gonna do with that?" asked Kit.

The answer was, _splat!_

So shocked was Kit that the only thing he could think to do was just stand there and _be _shocked. The dirty slush stung his face like an cold slap.

Karnage knelt down and held Kit by the shoulders, eyeing where the bits of white ice paled the boy's brown fuzz. By the fates of pirates and pilots, _the grin _that twitched up the wolf's pointed teeth... and _swish-swash _of his red tail...

Kit wiped his sleeve over his eyes and was finally able to put words together. "Wha'... what'd you do _that _for?"

Karnage stood up, paced in small circle, his hands wringing, his back hunched. His eyes, wide open but aimless, were afire in the storm of his thoughts, and whatever he was seeing it was not the world around him. It was a vision. There was something to be said about a plan being hatched so cunning, so dastardly, so devious that you couldn't even stand up straight to think it. The only articulation he offered was when he _ooh_'ed and _OOOH_'ed during flashes of his own brilliance as he put pieces of his plan together.

While the royal procession went under the portcullis, the crowd moved in toward the gate, shouting to the long life and health of their liege. By then, Don Karnage fit in well with the merriment. He was laughing and dancing giddily around a lamp post.

Kit began to wonder if Karnage had knocked back a few mugs at the inn when he wasn't looking. The confusion was getting irritating.

"You wanna tell me what's going on, or you wanna shove more snow in my face?"

"Do you not hear it, boy?" Karnage slid on his knees close to Kit's ear, his arm and hand gesturing upward to the sky. His was a whisper, but it was a loud and barely contained whisper: "The Big Pirate in the Sky is looking down and saying 'rob these rotten royals poorer than a country moose'!"

Kit squinted at the sky. He sure as heck didn't hear anything. And why were moose so poor in the country?

"How?"

"You!"

"Me?"

"You indeed-ee-doo!" sang Karnage. "You and the prince, boy! Two puny peas in the pod! Are you not excited? Why are you not _bursting _from your _bear-seams_?!"

"But...! I don't get...!" Under the captain's glare there was more to be expected than questions, so Kit did a little jump up and down and clapped his hands. "Yay?"

"This king, this castle, pooey!" spat Karnage. With small, sweeping steps, he looked at the height of the castle, its towers with silver pennants cracking in the wind, and his eyes became glistening, wanting orbs as he absorbed the possibilities of having a prince at his disposal.

"It will be wonderful!" he breathed. "And plunderful! Plunderful and wonderful, and wonderful and plunderful! Hee hee ha! This town is a juicy red apple on the tree, and _I am here to pluck it_!"

It was only then he realized, the music had stopped, and so had the crowd and their jovial chatter. Puzzled eyes surrounded him. He addressed them with the well-learned style of diplomacy that came with being a pirate captain like his dazzling self. "What are _you _all looking at, you sons of snow-shovelers? It's your _estupid_ festival, so start festivaling!"


	4. Cold cream and pirate schemes

**Chapter 4**

**Cold cream and pirate schemes**

Don Karnage had made one last stop before finding Will and Ratchet and ordering all back to the _Iron Vulture_ at once. That stop had been to the Frozen Gullet, and he spoke only briefly to the innkeeper, introducing himself by placing his cutlass on the bar, and offering this bargain: in exchange that the innkeeper deliver a message, Karnage promised not to bring the _Iron Vulture_ around and leave a smoldering crater where the inn stood. But the innkeeper had no idea what an _Iron Vulture_ was, so Karnage had to fork over a half-dollar for the favor instead, and avowed that the Frozen Gullet would be the Flattened Flophouse one of these days.

He also took a recent copy of the _Polaria Star_ newspaper (Ratchet would have his eye on that). The pages were overall dominated by the biggest Polarian scandal of the decade, that being the beloved woman who served as the prince's governess was charged with theft of the queen's jewelry, and the trial was pending. "The Nanny," she was called in the headlines, for she was best known for years among the townsfolk as serving that role for the prince in his earlier years. What Karnage wanted was the photo on the front page, showing the royal family standing for a pose in the castle's throne room: the king and queen smiling, the prince sulky, and the Polarian crown jewels on a display table right next to the throne.

Kit had no idea what he had done differently, but now he seemed to be awash in the captain's good graces. Will had the honor of pedaling back to home-sweet-airship, and Karnage was suddenly adamant about Kit being well fed and getting plenty of rest.

"What about, well... what happened to your room?" Kit was almost afraid to ask.

"Not to worry, boy," smiled Karnage, with a pat to his head. "You have the rest of your life to pay for that!"

Will and Ratchet tried to explain their findings, that Polaria had a salt mine, and sold salt by the ton and by the cheap. Mining supplies available aplenty included shovels, picks, drills, and more dynamite than Hacksaw could wear on his armbands. Best, they also found a certain pilot at the docks who would offer the services of her seaplane. It was a lucky break, as having just concluded her business there she was about to leave for warmer pastures. She agreed to be their winged packing mule, no questions asked, "for a modest fee, o' course."

However, Karnage was not listening. He seemed to have forgotten about the _Iron Vulture _being squished under a mountain of ice. Instead, on their way back and aboard the ship, he only spoke vaguely about the new greatest plan he ever had for the day so far:

Kidnap the Prince of Polaria. Insert Kit in disguise. Collect loot. Fly away loaded.

He wasted no time getting to work on it. By mid afternoon, the word had spread all over the flying pirate ship about what the crew soon called the Big Brat Swap.

The first question to solve was how to change the color of Kit's fur. For that, it was on the bridge where half the pirate clan gathered; they sat Kit on a stool and surrounded him, and engaged in deep, brow-furrowing thought. And lots of it.

"We can soak 'im in a tub of bleach," suggested Sadie.

"Yeah, that might do the trick," said Will. "It'd kill 'im, but might do the trick."

"No, no," said Don Karnage, waving off that idea. "There is no way he can do this without him being alive." He gave that a bit of thought. "Is there?"

"Sounds great!" said Kit, climbing off the stool. "I'm just gonna jump off the ship now."

"Stay!" pointed Karnage, and Kit reluctantly resumed his seat.

Mad Dog had the next idea: "Why not just use regular ol' paint? We got some."

"Can't, dummy," said Ratchet. "Not all over his face. He ain't gonna be a convincin' prince if he's blind, gaggin' and poisoned."

Karnage sighed. "Paint, poison... no no, we are once again back at the _being alive _thing. Think, you baboons!"

Kit gulped.

"We could get a shavin' razor," offered Hal. "What if we said the prince caught mange and all his fur fell out?"

Kit shuddered so hard that the stool wobbled and teetered, and he wrapped himself in his arms. "B-but I'm _using _it right now!"

So deeply had Karnage cringed that he had to pull his face with his fingers to get himself _un_-cringed.

Stepping to the front, Ratchet folded his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. "All right, all right," he said, "I'll take care of this. What we need some homemade makeup in a pinch. Lessee, I need a bucket of flour, some cold cream, and cookin' oil!"

While he waited for men to go fetch the ingredients, all he received were blank, curious stares.

"What? I used to be in Vaudeville," Ratchet told them.

One or two blinked.

A sudden sniffle came from Ratchet's nostrils. "I used to _dream _'bout bein' in Vaudeville." He burst into tears and ran out of the room.

* * *

><p>Not long after, the next meeting of the minds was in the galley. Attending were Don Karnage, Gibber, Mad Dog and Ratchet, two buckets, and one displeased bear cub.<p>

"Okay," said Ratchet, "got plenty of flower and oil from the kitchen. Cold cream, though... dang it, we ain't got none!"

"Of _course_ not," said Karnage. "You see a _Woolwarts _store in here? Think of something else to use."

Kit sat on a bench to their side, his head down on the table. He could have protested any of this until his face turned blue, and it would have changed nothing. He had given up on opinions, all of his were summarily ignored. The only reason cold cream prompted him to muck in on their scheming was that no one had mentioned a shaving razor again, and he rather liked to keep it that way.

"Wait, don't _you _have cold cream?" Kit asked the captain.

"I said, we have none," said Karnage.

Kit's head tilted, confused. "But what's that stuff you put on your nose at night?"

"Really?" blinked Ratchet.

Mad Dog leaned forward, close to and squinting at the captain's schnoz. "Ooh, lookit that shine!"

"Ooh, look at that bruise!" replied Karnage. He grabbed Mad Dog by the snout and threw him face first on the floor.

Stepping over his colleague, Gibber whispered an alert in the captain's ear.

"What, already?" Karnage yanked a pocket watch from his coat and started at the time. "Look alive, boy, _we _have a date."

"We... do?"

Karnage stumbled over the groaning dingy heap that was Mad Dog, then pretended to notice him there for the first time. "Oh my gracious goodness, what happened here?" With a show of grand courtesy, he helped Mad Dog up by his arms, straightened the goggles on his brow and dusted off his shoulders. "Come come, stand up, my mangy minion. Quick, which way is up?"

"I... ugh..." mumbled Mad Dog numbly.

"Close enough!" said Karnage, and he began leading the dizzy lackey out. "What you need is to sit down. Take a load of your loafers! I know just the place!"

The translation of that, it turned out, was the submarine was waiting and it needed someone to pedal.

* * *

><p>Don Karnage's appointment had been arranged through the innkeeper of Frozen Gullet, and it was there that he and Kit arrived as the sun was dipping low behind the valleys of Polaria.<p>

The stone and timber decor of the inn was a picture of a century gone by; the burning hearth in the middle provided much of the light, fiery hues of orange and gold flooded the space and made flickering shadows upon the walls, accented by oil lamps hung from sconces and set on the pinewood tables.

It was a busy day for drinking, the tables were full and the voices were loud. Mugs clanked in cheers and toasts, big gulps were guzzled, and many a burp was belched. The air was thick with pipe smoke and the smell of bread, broth, and ale. It was so warm inside that it was almost hot.

An weasel wearing a tattered bowler hat and green vest played at a upright piano in the corner, for the enjoyment of everyone and no one at once, a music that was only barely audible over the noise of the crowd. They called him Tommy Two Fingers, and that explained a lot about his talent to tickle the ol' ivories. They also called him that because his name was Tommy and he really only had two fingers.

"Hiya, suga'!" said someone by the roaring hearth, and it made Karnage cringe. He was getting _too _familiar with that voice lately, in too many places.

Roxy Post was leaning back in a chair, heels on a table, an empty glass mug at her toes. Her nose, from under her cap, followed him like it was tracking him on radar. "I was _so sorry _to hear 'bout yo'... um, _misfortune_."

"What are you mumbling about?" asked Karnage.

"Well, _you _know..." She demonstrated with her hands something big rolling and crashing down on something else.

"What! Who told...!" Though he was ready to lose his temper, Karnage dropped his voice to a whisper. "Tell me who told you that, so I can tie their tattling tongue into tiny knots!"

"Ain't yer boys tell ya?" smiled Roxy. "I'm gon' be yo' salt shaker, daddy! I"ll have ya up an' away in no time. For a modest fee, o' course."

Karnage walked away from her sighing a weary groan. Kit merely followed the captain's lead, as he was told to do, and the captain's lead was to a table in the far corner, a spot least affected by the bright glow of the hearth.

There were three sitting there, around a table with four chairs, the empty one waiting.

Don Karnage had had an informant about the vulnerability of King Klondike and his crown jewels at sea. Not a friend, but someone he was acquainted with through criminal circles of years past. She sat across from him now, her two accomplices sitting on the sides: Chester the Cat was to her left, and Mr. White, a rabbit, to her right.

She took a glance at Karnage, a sneer hidden behind the rim of a the ale-filled mug raised to her mouth. She threw her head back and took hearty gulps, froth dripping down her chin. The empty mug slammed atop the table just as Karnage helped himself to the open chair and sat opposite her.

"Ya blew it," was the only 'hello' offered by Madge Hatter. She was a mud-colored wolverine, short and stout, with claws wrapped around her ale, a thick mop of gray hair, and a single fang protruding from her upper lip. Her voice was deep and croaky, like someone who had been smoking cigars since the age of three. She wore a castle maid's uniform of black linen and white trimming.

"I told ya _when_, I told ya _where_," Madge said, while ordering another round with the banging of her empty mug against the table. "And ya blew it."

"So what skin is it off _your _elbows, you beastly battleaxe," retorted Karnage. "You were paid the same, no?"

"I'm... disappointed," said Madge, a well-dramatized frown conveying her sympathy. "Tough to see a pirate get rusty. Five years ago, you'd be wearin' that crown."

Karnage snorted at her. "Five years ago, you and these two lumps would still be robbing banks instead of _hiding_ in this wonderful winter wonder-place."

Chester the Cat and Mr. White shuffled in their seats, glancing at Madge and at each other. Like Madge, they had on their work outfits; for them, as castle cooks, they both wore sullied white double-breasted jackets and matching trousers. The only difference was that Chester the Cat's sleeves were stained in shades of red and pink.

Madge snorted at Karnage, then noticed an eyeball and fuzzy ear timidly peering from behind Karnage's shoulder. She had seen him walk in with the pirate. "Least we never lost an easy job 'cause we were too busy babysittin'. What'd ya got behind ya, Karns, yer golf caddy? Ha!"

Karnage gestured for Kit to come around next to him, and Kit did, at the corner between the captain and Chester the Cat. Karnage had told him to let him do all the talking, so he had nothing to say, but he bristled at their snickers. He did _not _like this lady. Why, he wondered, did he have to be there?

"The boy is here so you can see," said Karnage. He leaned back in his chair, stretched and yawned, as if bored. "Not that you brick-headed blockheads would appreciate the _brilliance _I am about to bestow."

"Uh-huh," replied Madge, unimpressed. "So lets have it, then. Tell us why you're stickin' 'round this slice of paradise. Family vacation?"

"Oh, you know," said Karnage, drawing little circles on the table with his forefinger. "A little skiing, a little sledding, a little stealing of a lot of things like the _crown jewels_... Oh! I _always _wanted to make a snowman!"

The tavern wench set down on their table four fresh mugs of red ale. While she did, the back-and-forth repartee went silent. They each took a drink, Madge in big gulps. Kit sniffed at the foam running over Karnage's mug and cringed. It made his nose burn, a scent like cranberries and airplane fuel. Once the serving wench was out of earshot, they continued.

"The crown jewels are back in the castle," said Madge, with an incredulous smirk. "I s'pose yer just gonna have 'em brought to ya by the king himself?"

"The prince," said Don Karnage, plainly.

"Oh! Sure, the prince!" chuckled Madge.

A broad smile spread across Karnage's face so devilish that his brows seemed like black horns and his teeth like pearlescent daggers. Seeing this, the smirk faded from Madge Hatter's crooked lip, and she leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Got somethin' on yer mind, ya naughty dog?"

Huddling closely over the table, Don Karnage laid out his plan to them. Kit squirmed at their staring, especially that from Chester the Cat; his gaze was bright and empty, and he smiled all the time. There was a pungent odor that seemed to be coming from the red stains on his coat.

By the time Karnage was finished, Madge's chubby cheek was already rested in her palm. She couldn't have waited much longer before Karnage stopped talking to tell him, "That's the _dumbest _idea I've ever heard, and I've heard me some whoppers!"

Karnage took a deep, frustrated breath and rolled his eyes. "Have you no _vision_, you woman-like wildebeest?"

"My vision sees a quick trip to the noose," said Madge. "Lemme get this straight. You wanna kidnap the prince, and-wait, even if you got that far, why not just ransom out the little snot?"

As much as Kit already hated the sound of Madge's voice, he rather like the sound of that idea instead, and had a hope that it would soar. It was, however, grounded.

The answer, in Karnage's mind, had already been calculated many times over (in Spanish). To articulate (in English), it had to do with risk. The risk he was willing to take initially was robbing the king's steamship with the firepower of the _Iron Vulture_ at his disposal, then fleeing with the wind thousands of miles away. There may have been repercussions, certainly bounties and rewards issued for his capture, but bounties with his name were already plentiful.

Ransoms were another risk altogether. Ransoms involved waiting, and at some point meeting. It allowed the other side to think, to plan, to trap. Wealthy civilians were easy and always welcome, usually too intimidated to push back. An entire kingdom could garnish allies, raise armies, and get too prideful to bargain.

The prince, he decided, was best as a hostage if worse came to worst. Plus, he had this idea about parachuting the prince out of the _Iron Vulture_, tied in a ribbon and bow, with a thoughtful note addressed to the king and queen. It would read:

_Roses are red_  
><em>You stink like mules<em>  
><em>Here is your brat<em>  
><em>Thanks for the jewels!<em>

"Mules and jewels," giggled Karnage. "I made it rhyme!" He was talking to himself, and around the table they were staring at him like the ale bubbles had gone to his head. "Who cares about a ransom if I have my own prince pilfering in the castle?"

"He don't look a thing like the prince," argued Madge. "I s'pose he's the right size, but yer crazier than I took ya for if you really think anyone'd be fooled."

At that, Karnage calmly left the table, and approached the innkeeper at the bar. He was tending to a wood fire oven with rising bread inside. A short haggle, Karnage came back to the table with a cup of flour. He sat down, placed the cup on the table, holding it between folded hands, patiently, smugly, looking at each of them in turn.

They waited, stares blank and mouths shut, except for Chester the Cat, whose stare was empty and grin full of straight, perfect teeth. Kit regarded the cup suspiciously, for what turned out to be a good reason.

A sudden flick of Karnage's wrist, and the flour washed over Kit's head.

Madge and the cooks had a good chuckle, and the flour, snowing from Kit's cheeks and sweater, left naught but a furious glare from the boy's brow. He spat a white puff back at Karnage and said nothing, but slouched over the table on his elbows, resignedly, to let them all get their ogling over with.

Then, Madge's laughter came to a slow stop as she regarded Kit's features: in a certain light... the eyes, the ears... if that tuft of hair was combed down... She hunched in far over the table, squinting, her clawed fingers digging notches into the wood. In her duties, she had seen the Prince of Polaria nearly every day, and her jaw hung loose to see him _now_.

After a pause, more laughter came, but these were raucous guffaws from deep in her belly, coming up in sputters like an engine turning over. She was so entranced that she nearly forgot to smile, and when she did it was broad, crooked grin, baring her one long fang. "He's... he's the spittin' image," she said at last, breathless. "Oh, Karns, where'd ya find yerself a _prince_?"

While he began dusting the flour from his face, Kit recoiled from her and her gaze. He had recognized that type of look before, such as from Karnage, when the gears and cogs in his mind were churning fiercely with schemes.

"What'dya say, boys?" Madge asked her cohorts.

"Meh! He'd never fool the nanny," said Mr. White, his upper lip twitching over two large buck teeth. His voice was light and squeaky. "She'd spot the difference if it was just by a hair."

"But that cow's already been put to pasture," replied Madge, with a knowing grin.

"There'd still be more to it than puttin' some powder on his face," said Mr. White. "What's some wet-nose know about doin' jobs?"

"Yes, I suppose he looks very... _tender_," said Chester the Cat, his voice smooth as silk. "Like a soft cut of veal," he mused to himself, absently. Kit took _no time _to move himself to the other side of Karnage.

"Bah, that's true," said Madge, now frowning at their reasoning. "Ya pluck some urchin up from the puppy farm and think he can just carry on as the prince? Fool the entire castle?"

"You will leave that to me," said Karnage.

"Even if ya _knew_ how to be the prince," said Madge, "ya ain't gonna be there to pull his little puppet strings. We could run interference for a while, but that won't last. _Anything _could happen, too many things. He flinches and this whole thing goes to pot."

"Just like a lovely pot roast," added Chester the Cat.

"Shaddup, Chester," growled Madge. She rapped her claws on the table and thought, seemingly reluctant to give up on the pirate's idea. "Throw me a bone, here, Karns. When they find out Nanuk _ain't _Nanuk, what keeps yer kid from rattin' us out when they put the pain on him?"

_The pain?_ thought Kit with dread.

"There's gotta be other ways," said Madge; she had an excited glint in her eye while she thought. "Let's make somethin' of this while yer here. What if ya let me think, and I can come up with a time, when their guard'll be down, for ya to bring your flyin' ship 'round to blast the castle to rubble. Then ya can plunder the old fashioned pirate way."

"Perhaps _after_," said Karnage forcefully, and was not about to begin to tell her why he could not do that at the moment even if he wanted. "I told you, you will leave the boy to me," he scowled.

"Leave him to you, while we stick our necks out, too. It'd take one time for 'im to lose his nerve, just one time to choke, and he's _done_."

Kit flinched at the way she had said that.

"Huh! Look at 'im," said Madge, shaking her head. "No offense, kid, but you gotta have some iron _guts _to pull off somethin' like that."

Kit waited for the retort to come from Karnage, but now he was silent, staring angrily at his fingers while his claws scraped shavings from of the pine tabletop. The silence was awkward, and it seemed as if Karnage had given up. He did not know if the captain had given up on the plan that he was so fervent for, or on him... and for what, because this woman and her cronies thought he wasn't _tough _enough? Did the captain think that?

Much as Kit would have liked to kick and scream his way out of any of this princely pretending, of this he was resolved: it would be a hot day in Polaria before he would let any of them believe that he didn't have the guts to do it.

So, he piped up. "Ma'am?"

Her eyes met his in a glare that _dared _him to speak. They _all _looked at him, and waited, even Karnage. Madge picked up her mug and guzzled down the rest of her ale, then slammed it hard on the table, staring at him.

Is that what passed for tough, Kit wondered. If it was, big deal. He snatched the mug in front of Karnage with both hands, and drank.

Karnage was scandalized and speechless as he watched the boy chug the red ale in long and noisy gulps, spilling half of it on his sweater, until the bottom of the mug was upside down. Kit slammed the empty glass back onto the table, but haphazardly so that it rolled off, shattering into pieces on the floor. He gasped like he had been poisoned, like his throat was on fire, and for all he knew, both were true. Then he swallowed, squinted at Madge Hatter with crossed and glossy eyes, and said, "I got more guts _*hic!*_ than you got ugly."

Karnage burst into a fit of laughter, while Kit hiccuped and wobbled. Madge glanced left and right to her cohorts, and allowed herself to grin at the boy's wisecrack.

"All right," she said, "I'll help you get 'im in, but _I_ know the castle, and I don't trust you _or _him to get this done with everybody's head still screwed on. We got no guarantee he won't get scared and rat us all out. So, once he's in, he don't make the move without my go. Might take a day or two while I put things together. Meantime, you'll shaddup and wait. That a deal?"

"Well, when you say it with such _charm_," said Karnage, dryly. "Deal."

_*hic!*_ said Kit.

"Deal," nodded Madge at Karnage. ""We're in. Let's talk."

Mr. White elbowed her in the arm and leaned forward to interject. "But first, what'll ya _pay_?" he asked.

_*BwaaaaaaaaaaaUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuurp!*_

The belch had made the windows rattle, the piano player had forgot his tune, the serving wench spilled six cups of ale on an unlucky patron, and half the tavern took cover as if they were under some sort of attack. And it was the last thing Kit did before he keeled over backwards.


	5. How to be snooty

**Chapter 5**

**How to be snooty**

War paint. Warriors had used it for ages in battle, springing upon their enemies with visages that were something other themselves, something mightier. For this mighty warrior, the battle was nigh. The time had come. The warrior began the ritual, the paint put intently from finger to brow, to cheek, to chin; with each stroke was a solemn remembrance of his duty and an affirmation of his courage. It was contemplative. It was spiritual. It was getting rushed by an impatient captain.

"Hurry up in there, boy," said Don Karnage. "And don't forget behind the ears!"

"It's gonna take as long as it's gonna take," retorted Kit. "Jeepers," he sighed, annoyed.

The day after meeting with Madge Hatter, Karnage had rented an upstairs room in the inn, the Royal Suite it was called, because it had a light bulb hanging on a wire and running water when it wasn't frozen over. Mad Dog, Dumptruck, and Gibber were downstairs, blending in with the locals and their kegs while waiting for marching orders. Dumptruck had brought a red and white knit Santa hat for reasons of his own, perhaps he thought Mr. Claus was nearby.

While Karnage paced around the bedroom, Kit was in the adjoining bathroom, standing on a soap box to see himself in the mirror above the sink. A shaft of midday light spilled through a rectangular window over his shoulder. His hands were full with the greasepaint that Ratchet had concocted, a bucket of which was at his feet.

With big globs he smeared the paint over his muzzle, his hair, his neck, and yes, behind his ears, rubbed it in, and slowly the transformation was being realized before his very eyes, like he was erasing himself with the back end of a pencil. Save for his eyebrows, when every strand of fur above his shoulders was white as the snow outside, he used a thick horsehair brush to smooth it all out.

When at last he set the brush down, he turned his head left and right in the mirror, making sure he had not missed a spot. It struck him, then, that his reflection was not his own. To him it looked like two photographs of two different people that had been ripped apart and mismatched back together: the prince's face and gray trousers, while the only thing familiar of himself was his belly between them.

Kit wiped his hands on a towel and finished dressing. Madge Hatter had smuggled them the outfit, one of the prince's very own: a dressy silk sky-blue shirt with shiny silver buttons, silk trousers and a matching vest gray as a storm cloud, with the royal house's silver snowflake emblem threaded on the breast. Also, and importantly, were included white gloves, socks, and a pair of black leather slip-on shoes. For when the time came, there was also provided a hooded winter coat with thick wool lining that was feasibly discreet enough not to get Kit noticed in the streets.

"I am not hearing anyone turning into royalty in there!" yelled Karnage.

"What are you gonna hear, my buttons buttoning? Relax!"

"Relax, he says," muttered Karnage. In the spur of both superstition and not wanting to spoil the surprise for himself, Karnage refused to see Kit until the transformation was done. Restless, the captain pushed open the bedroom's shutters wider and leaned out the window. Before him the outskirts of the village gave way to a pine forest and snowy hills, and to his left the great curtain wall of the castle stretched to the brink of the trees, then turned a corner. Far behind that corner the wall met the sheer cliff slope of the valley against which the castle was situated. There, so said Madge Hatter, was a little-known tunnel hidden in the rocks that went under the wall and came up near a garden.

Karnage grimaced, wishing he could see over the wall from the window, just to see before they went in on Madge's word alone. He was relying on her words and deeds too much, he knew, for his own good, and the nervous flutter in his stomach was not just from thinking about the boy's part in this job. Still, so far, she had not let him down.

It was difficult to discern why, but to Karnage it seemed like Madge was giddy to see the castle burglarized. She had provided much information, both in their meeting last night, where they conspired to the late hours, and then once more earlier that day, when she stole herself from the castle just long enough to not go amiss in her maid duties. She had drawn diagrams of the castle noting points of interests, provided the location where they could get in and out secretly, and gave tips on Prince Nanuk's behavior and mannerisms. She even promised that when the time came for the prince to go, she was going to see that he was in the right place and the right time.

The pirate crew had been keeping occupied, too, just not in things that were necessarily pirate-like. That morning was the second sunrise that the _Iron Vulture_ had been stuck in the fjord, and the boys eased off their cabin fever with a massive snowball fight on the very avalanche that covered their ship. It was much like a normal snowball fight, except it involved a higher-than-normal rate of black eyes, bloody noses, sprains, and an occasional explosion. In other words, good, clean pirate fun. Karnage gave them no hassle for it; this lot was already stir crazy enough, there was no need to get them stir crazier.

Elsewhere in town, Ratchet and Will had been working over the details of finally getting the airship free. Their solution veered from the popular ideas of explosions and fires, and took the more practical measures involving brine and elbow grease. Their plan involved taking advantage of the ample salt supply in Polaria, the current clear skies and the flying services of Roxy Post. Her plane, made for smuggling, had several spacious compartments from which to dump salt aplenty and help melt the rotors free, and two big pontoons that could knock heaps of snow away with each pass. They planned that she would fly out seaward first, going out of view of any watching Polarian eyes, then approach the _Iron Vulture_ low and hidden in the fjord. She would also bring in the snow shovels and other tools they needed to hasten the job.

None of that was on Don Karnage's mind.

"Well, what do you think?" Kit at last stepped out from the bathroom, his costume complete, down to brushing his hair flat to the left like the prince did.

The moment of truth. Karnage spun on his heels away from the window, his eyes closed at first, then open. The answer to what he thought was showing in the delight that lit up his countenance.

"My boy! You look like... like..."

"A big piece of cotton," scoffed Kit.

"But a _princely _piece of cotton!" said Karnage. He took a lap around the boy, and was thoroughly pleased at what he saw.

In the corner of the room were a big burlap bag and coils of rope, and though they made not more than an innocuous pile, to Kit they may as well have been a dragon spitting fire across the room, so ominous they seemed as the herald of things to come. The more he thought about it, his confidence grew numb.

Yes, he had heard what Madge Hatter had to say about the prince's belligerent nature. Yes, he had heard the captain reiteration and coach him about the prince endlessly. And yes, more so, it also stuck in his mind how, as Madge had eloquently put it, the castle guards would make him "spill his guts in more ways than one" if they discovered the prince was kidnapped.

Karnage slapped Kit heartily on the back, catching him by such a shock that it just about knocked him over. "Why the scaredy-bear stare? Snap out of it and snap _in _to thinking about putting piles of pillageness in your paws!"

"What if I don't know what to do?" said Kit, the worry squeaking in his voice.

"Since when do you not no how to sneak?"

"But I _don't _know how to be a prince!"

"What's so hard?" shrugged Karnage. "That wealthy wretch is a spoiled little snob who hates everyone. All you have to do is be... _snooty_."

Kit blinked. "Snooty," he repeated, half a question.

"As in, keep your snoot up!" Karnage pinched Kit's nose and tilted his head back. And he wasn't done there; like a sculptor at his art, he bent, straightened, poked, prodded, and molded Kit's posture until the boy resembled all things arrogant. "Eyes down, never look up to anyone, move your head back instead. Frowny face! Belly in! Chest out! Hands to your side, and, most importantly, pinkies straight! Now hold it, right there!"

Then the sculpture was finished, and Karnage bid Kit to hold the pose while he stepped back to admire his work. He clasped his hands together, delighted. "Fan-TAS-tical!" he exclaimed.

"I feel like a moron," said Kit through his teeth.

"You _look _like a moron," assured Karnage. "Just like the other moron!"

Kit shook off the ridiculous pose and went to rub his weary eyes, but not before Karnage made him jump by shouting "_No_!"

"Wh-what?"

Karnage cleared his throat. "There will be no smudging of your majesty's mug."

"For cryin' out loud," said Kit, crossly. "Smudge this!" Out of spite, he scratched his nose, eyes, cheeks and ears, everywhere at once, while Karnage bristled, and as the captain grew a new vein above his eyebrow, Kit threw off his gloves and jumped belly-first on the bed, making sure the tattered blanket brushed his face. Too bad, he thought, that the makeup didn't smear off as much as he had hoped.

Karnage reached out to him with pointed claws, but there was an invisible leash holding him back, that being he needed a prince in a couple hours that was not in the shape of a pretzel. "A fine time to fall to pieces, boy. What good are you now?"

"None," said Kit, turning his head away from him. "So I won't do it. You can't make me."

The air temperature seemed to rise as Karnage seethed. "You want to bet," he growled, gravely.

The silent standoff was brief. Kit turned over and stared angrily at the ceiling. "Why me," he said. "Why does it have to be me?"

The question was so ludicrous that Karnage felt stupid dignifying it. "Because if you were not too busy whining to be noticing, you look exactly-!" He stopped talking when it occurred to him. This was one of those _having patience _things, wasn't it? _Now_, of all times. It turned his stomach in a knot; he was never going to get used to this. After a deep breath, he began again: "Because you _can _do it, no? _You _can do it." He made fast circular motions over his ears. "Even if the wheels on your bus are not always spinning at the right speed!"

"But you never talk about if I get caught," said Kit.

"Because, I _told_ you...!" Frustrated, Karnage struggled for the words. He felt like he could teach a potted fern to swear in Spanish and it would have been a quicker lesson. "You will not get caught!"

"But what if I do?"

"Then please be sending me a postcard from prison," scowled Karnage.

Kit curled up on his side, staring through the wolf's blue coat. "You don't care," he said plainly. In a dab below his eye, the white makeup was glistening.

Don Karnage bottled up a scream in his throat, one boiling over in frustration, and what came through was a strained whine through a twisted countenance that was akin to passing a watermelon through his digestive tract. When his blood pressure finally eased, he sighed, picked up the small white gloves from the floor and tossed them beside Kit, then took a seat at the foot of the bed. He needed the boy to _want _to to this, or he surely would get caught. His head was dizzy. All this having to have patience was exhausting. So much easier it was to adjust the attitude of a wayward pirate with a good _thump_, as many as it took. It was the same way you fixed a radio. No, he was _never _going to get used to this.

"One time," said the captain, after a moment, "I robbed the safe of a tycoonish twit in his fancy-pants office disguised as... how do I put it... a woman of the working type."

The odd and sudden confession came as such a surprise that Kit nearly forgot what he was upset about, and blinked away at the ghastly images that were coming to mind. "You mean... a... really?"

Karnage nodded. "A secretary."

"Oh."

Squinting as he remembered, Karnage was himself dumbfounded as another random memory came forth: "I also stole a plane full of rubber ducks dressed like a giant yellow chicken." He waved the next question from the boy off before it could even be asked. "Never mind. A pirate does what a pirate has to do. A little disguise here and there, so what? It's what you call, _some meats to an end_."

"But I don't _want _my meats ending," said Kit, and he was more confused after he said it than when he heard it.

"No, no, boy," said Karnage, shaking his head. "Listen! _Who _was it last week that I saw tippy-toe behind that one flubbery _flatfloot _and take the _pistola _off his belt?"

"Uh, me," said Kit.

"And you said, what?"

"Stick 'em up, copper," said Kit, sheepishly. He leaned up, propped on his elbows, and was somewhat enthralled by the mention of this deed, as at the time the captain never so much as gave him a nod, but now he sounded impressed.

"And _who _is the sticky-fingered sneak that picked even _my _pocket, and I promise will get _keelhauled _if he ever tries it again?"

"But you dropped that money," said Kit, but the look the captain gave him was as incredulous as steel was solid. "Okay, me."

Karnage leaned closer to him, his voice low, as if he was about to share a secret. "And most importantly, boy, who is going to get _stinking rich _when that castle is a few sparkling jewels less heavy?"

Kit liked the thought of that, stinking or not; the diamonds were already sparkling in his eyes. "Me?" he asked.

"_Me_," corrected Karnage. "Nice try. But listen to your fearlessly leading leader! You stay sneaky and snooty, and we are leaving this frozen dump with the crown." Karnage poked him in the ribs to get his attention, and got it with a ticklish squirm. "_We_. Are the wheels not spinning yet?"

Kit nodded, and smiled a bit. "If you say so."

"Ay ay ay," sighed Karnage, seemingly deflating with breath of relief and melting backwards on the bed blanket. Despite the cold and crisp breeze from the window, tiny beads of sweat shone above his eyebrows. "One of these days, boy, I am going to show you how to fix a radio."


	6. The Big Brat Swap

**Chapter 6**

**The Big Brat Swap**

Shreds of silver gloom shone between thick and darkening silhouettes of tall pines where the pirates had gathered on the evening hour. They had left the inn not as a group, but individually or in pairs, each leaving at a different time and taking a different route, eventually meeting in the forest. Don Karnage and Kit were the last to arrive, the latter in full disguise but each incognito, Karnage in his overcoat and Kit in the prince's hooded coat.

A quick check of supplies was made; the burlap sack, rope, a rag, lanterns for their hike out of the forest after the deed was done, pistols and blades if they needed them, and Kit had a spare tin of white makeup in his trouser pocket.

Then they set off, their grisly fellowship of five, treading a cold carpet of snow, twig, and brown pine needles that crunched under their feet, and leaving behind a trail of deep and dirty footprints. Mad Dog and Dumptruck found amusement in scaring away a pair of elk by chasing them with absurd noises and faces, until Karnage snapped at them to heel. They sullenly slunk back in tow like scolded children.

Their pace became cautious as the castle's curtain wall came into view, on sharp alert for guards, foragers, anyone. Madge Hatter had told them where to go, where to find the secret passage under the wall, and they were at the mercy of her word.

They looked to where a cliff began to rise just where the trees thinned. Whereas the castle was south of the village, they were upon the southeastern corner of the castle, where its curtain wall ended and became one with the cliff. Don Karnage glanced at the crude map Madge had penciled on a lifted piece of castle stationary, then up at the wall, then at the map again. He suddenly stopped the group without a word, with the fur on his neck standing up.

"Boss?" asked Mad Dog.

The captain shushed him, and glanced at the treetops, grasping the hilt of his cutlass. A scoundrel's intuition had kicked in. He had seen something, he did not know what, but _something_, and it did not belong among the trees.

In Karnage's likeness, Kit and the rest were still, frozen as snowmen, only their eyes moving as they looked and listened to the darkening forest. The pine boughs swayed and rustled in a breeze, an unseen owl hooted to their left, the crescent moon shone through the shadows of tall branches, a crow fluttered overhead, and... _what _moon?

"You were almost late," said Chester the Cat from above, ever so calmly, but still making the pirates jump like a hungry ghost had lunged at them. His wide and perfect smile glistened like the snow.

"You _estupid gato_," seethed Karnage. "How would you like to be flossing those terrific teeth with your tail?"

In reply, a meat cleaver hurled from crescent moon in the tree and planted its flat blade deep into the ground, between Karnage's heels.

"Or we all forgive and forget, yes-no?" said Karnage quickly.

In a single bound, Chester the Cat leapt from the tree and landed square on his feet, dressed in his chef's attire. Casually, he plucked his cleaver from the ground and absently played with his thumb across the blade while he gave Kit a good look-over.

"Oh, this is splendid," he said. Caught in the stare of his wide and vacant eyes, and warm breath seeping through his unchanging smile, Kit promptly stepped back until he was backpedaling into Gibber. "But you have to hurry. It's almost time for supper, you see."

The pirates took uncertain glances at one another. Karnage, confused as any, shrugged at them. "You heard him. Supper time."

"Come along, please," said the cat. He led them to a cluster of large rocks, where the rising valley cliff, glistening with frost, ended the stretch of the castle's wall. He climbed over the midst of the rocks and disappeared. His voice still seemed to be close when he said, "This way, please."

Following first was Kit; atop the rocks, there was a crevice that went further down than the ground should have gone. Smaller stones, damp with old snow, were piled at the bottom in a stair-like slope. Slowly, carefully, he climbed down into a dark unknown. The passage was pitch, but the light of the other side was not far away, and there too were stones placed at an upward incline. Karnage was close behind, and the others behind him, clumsily skidding and piling on top of each other.

Halfway through, Kit planted his foot on round stone and stumbled. It rolled under his heel and felt oddly light for a rock its size, or so he thought. He kicked it forward, thinking not about it further, though when it reached a glint of light he saw it was smooth and pale as milk. He wondered what it was and picked it up. His fingers felt holes of some sort around it. When he turned it over, somebody's former face stared back at him with round and unseeing hollow eyes. It was dropped it like it had given him an electric shock.

Upon the other end, they had gone all the way under the castle's outer defenses, and climbed out a narrow clearing between the great gray wall and a tool shed. Chester the Cat waited for them there, using the blade of his cleaver as a mirror while a claw picked at his teeth. Once they had all filed out, he covered the hole with three planks of wood, then shushed the pirates with only a finger slowly rising to his lips. "Watch for the prince," he said.

As Madge Hatter told Karnage in their previous meeting, the prince was likely to be found in reclusive areas such as his room, or the garden behind the castle, shunning himself from the king's court and royal attendants. He had always been temperamental, but he had been downright explosive lately, since his nanny had been jailed the week prior, a sad and scandalous incident where a silver and jade bracelet belonging to the queen had somehow found its way into the nanny's bureau. The nanny, it was told, had cared for the prince since his infancy and was the one person who brought him to sensible behavior. Finding her replacement was an impossible task, for the prince was fit to throw tantrums and shout down any others they brought in for his daily lessons and companionship.

An unseen commotion erupted from far off, where they heard echoes of shouting guards. "A fire in the west wing, courtesy of Mr. White," explained Chester the Cat, checking his wrist watch. "A small accident with impeccable timing. For a time, it's unlikely a guard will happen to look here from a window." He led the pirates to hide behind a thick hedge.

"Don't go past that tower," he said, gesturing toward the northeast corner of the keep, around which was the front bailey. "There are guards not far from there. But back here, they give the prince the solitude he demands. And they tire of him so." His grin, though there was no difference in a physical sense, somehow now seemed more knowing. "You'll see. Madge and the prince will be along soon. I have to see to supper now. We're having fish. I always enjoy it when we have fish. It's always so freshly caught here. Sometimes they're still wiggling when..." While he absently digressed, he caressed the blade of his cleaver and eyed it dreamily. Then he let out a long, content sigh and left the pirates. From there, they could only keep their heads low and wait.

The garden was a viable museum and zoo of horticultural art, its countless shrubberies large and small masterfully trimmed into statue-like sculptures. Here a life-sized elephant cried out with its trunk raised, there a family of swans paddled over an imaginary pond. The shrubs were all of deep green leaves with reddish stems, and were ornamented with bright red berries. Those that were not animals were trimmed in curved shapes and swirls. The last snowfall had mostly dissipated from the plants, but slush aplenty lingered on the pale grass. The centerpiece of it all was where the pirates were hiding, a great multi-tiered fountain, unflowing, half-melted icicles yet dripping from its five stacked basins. It was surrounded by several thick rings of shrub hedges, each with its own clearing trimmed away at a different point, making a miniature circling maze to and from the fountain.

For the comfort of the royal family and their guests, whoever of which sought out a contemplative moment in the garden, there were several benches and lit fire pits burning charcoal and smoking robustly.

The moment came shortly when the pirates heard him.

"You're such an old hag," snarled Prince Nanuk. "Stay away! You got Nan in trouble!"

"Now now, Your Highness," said Madge Hatter, in a patience and politeness that was as genuine as a packing mule singing opera. "It was your nan who stole the bracelet, the poor misguided gal. I was only doin' my duty to report it."

"Stop following me," snarled the prince. And she was, in such a way that in his effort to storm away from her, she was corralling him toward the garden fountain. "You're just a stupid maid. You can't be out here!"

Madge's eyes caught the yellow glint in Don Karnage's, peering over the hedge, which from behind Kit was quietly repeating the prince's words and the inflections in which he spoke them. Subtle nods were exchanged across the garden.

"Oh, as you wish, Dear Prince," said Madge, turning her heels and retreating back toward the keep. "But ya really oughtta be nicer. Ya never know when ya might need a friend."

Left alone, Prince Nanuk began to tear the leaves from a lion's green mane.

"Show time, boy," said Karnage. "Remember! Snooty. Like everyone around you stinks."

"Gee, _that'll _be different," drawled Kit, hunching away from the rest. With one deep breath, he gathered his gumption and was the first from the hedge.

Nanuk had found a stick and was giving hell to a green shrub castle when Kit met him. And there, Prince Nanuk of Polaria, son of Klondike, His Royal Highness and heir to the throne, stood face to face with Kit Cloudkicker, street urchin, aviation fanatic, and fledgling air pirate. The differences in their clothing aside, they were nearly two mirror images, stunned and speechless of what each saw in the other: _himself_.

It was but a few heartbeats before the utter shock on Nanuk's behalf dissipated into scorn. "Who... who are _you_, in _my _garden?"

Like a monster in the night, Don Karnage lunged from the shadows and took Nanuk to the ground, clawed fingers clamped over the prince's mouth. "You mean _my _garden, no?"

Dumptruck, Mad Dog, and Gibber moved in, with the speed and ferocity of hungry wolves against wounded prey. Prince Nanuk's fearful, muffled screams made Kit step back; where the stifled cries could not pierce his ears, they pierced his conscience. The pirates were downright giddy to bind the prince in a cocoon of rope, and gag him with a rag. It was done with quickly; the tears on Nanuk's cheeks were the last thing to be seen before his head was covered by the burlap sack.

Kit had not considered that he might feel _bad _about any of this. He was about ask that the prince not be harmed, but if there had been an angel and a devil sitting on his shoulders whispering advice, the devil had won over. With a swallow, he bottled up such sympathies. They were not fitting a pirate.

Dumptruck snatched up the sack, and swung it over his shoulder. He had been waiting for this moment, him and his Santa hat: "Ho ho ho!" he chuckled, and waited for someone to comment. Mad Dog gave him a slow, unimpressed clap.

"Go go _go_," hissed Karnage, shooing the other three away with their bagged and squirming quarry. As he turned to Kit, now that the moment had come, _he _was the one who was most nervous. There were too many things he wanted to tell the boy one more time, and he did not know where to begin.

"Keep the _paint _on to keep your _head _on," said the captain. "Sniff around for the crown jewels, and wait for the maid, but don't _wait _for the maid. Wait for the _time_. Don't. Get. Caught." Three thumps of his finger to Kit's chest accompanied those last three words.

Kit nodded, curtly. "Dunt git caught."

"Be here in the morning, and tell me everything you see. And, if you find yourself not too busy being a prince, steal _lots _of things, h'okay?"

"H'okay," nodded Kit. "Lots of theengs."

"You are no prince," said Karnage, "and no thief and no crook. _Comprende_? This is a _pirate's _plan."

"Compren... com... comprend..."

"Stop that!" hissed the captain. Kit shrugged at him.

From an open door, Madge Hatter watched them wearily. "Better cut the pep talk short, coach," she said. "Never know who might come lookin'."

"I won't let you down," Kit told the captain.

"Better not," scowled Karnage, then blessed him, in is own pirate way, with a villainous grin. "All right, boy. Go play."

And so Kit looked up at his playground, the keep made of big gray bricks, the towers at the corners reaching skyward, silver pennants at the very top caught in the breeze. He adjusted his collar, kept his nose up, and forced a haughty frown. Madge left the door open for him.


	7. Dinner with the family

**Chapter 7**

**Dinner with the family**

Inside Snowshine Keep, Madge Hatter led the way. She kept a feather duster in hand, and superficially dabbed at any nearby decor when they passed a guard in the halls. They were silent sentries, but Kit could _feel _them watching, and he dared not make eye contact. Three guards they had passed, and no one took suspicion.

The castle was cozier and cleaner than to what the medieval exterior visage would allude. The lights were electric and heat came from furnace vents. Under ceiling lamps in golden painted glass, the masonry was polished, and painted ivory shades; the halls were a procession of pillars, floral vases, and hanging wall portraits one after the other, where painted eyes of unnamed polar bears, perhaps kings and queens of old, watched in squints of disdain those who traipsed about their old home. The floors were dark polished hardwood under a soft, deep red carpet that went around the corners and had no end to it.

Up three flights of stairs Kit followed Madge, but not so close that it looked like he was following her. Suddenly a butler exited through a side door, stopped in front of him, and gave him a look of such surprise.

"Your Highness?" he asked, squinting through his spectacles.

All that came out of Kit's mouth was a rattle. _Your Highness_... that was him. Madge was too far ahead to interfere. The spotlight was upon him, and it was hot and blinding. He had to answer.

The butler was a portly and aging malamute with thick wisps of fur sprouting from his tidy white collar, and he a posture reflecting many years of learned pomp and courtesy. Behind him was a footman, a lanky white leopard, who could not have been much older than a teenager. Though they matched black tuxedos, they could have hardly been less alike: the elder was confident, short, and pudgy, and the younger nervous, tall, and skinny.

"What?" said Kit meekly. Don Karnage's words rang in his head. _Snooty_. He spoke again, imitating the proper inflections as spoken by the prince. "I mean, what do _you _want?"

"Dear me, I thought we were rid of that old coat," said the butler.

Kit could feel the sweat gathering under his greasepainted hair. His heart was pounding. The butler was looking right at him... yet had no idea whom he was really speaking to.

Heavy footsteps came from behind the butler, and it was not Madge. A tall and brawny gray wolf with several medals decorating his red Royal Guard uniform was approaching, marching in broad paces with his hands neatly folded behind his back. Madge was behind him, ducking and gesturing at Kit to _get away from there_.

Kit swallowed, then brushed past the two attendants. "Mind your own business," he said.

"Your highness?" called the butler after him. "Your voice, are you feeling well?"

The guard stopped in the middle of the hall, trapping Kit, and waiting for his response. Kit looked up at him, met by icy blue eyes shining under an inquisitive brow. "Is all well, My Prince?" he asked, his voice deep and powerful as thunder. While every fiber of Kit's being cried out for him to flee to the woods, Karnage's words held him together: _Snooty. Like everyone stinks!_

He recoiled from the guard disdainfully, and spoke over his shoulder to the butler. "What's wrong with my voice?" he asked.

"I'm not certain," said the butler. "It's different, somehow."

"Yeah? Well so is yours."

"Your Highness?"

"Yours usually doesn't sound so _stupid_."

The butler sighed wearily, as he likely had a thousand times before. "As you say, Your Highness."

With that, the guard stepped briskly aside out of Kit's way, and clicked his heels together with a pose of attention. What they mistook for Prince Nanuk's petulant stomps was Kit hurrying away.

"Not bad, for a wet-nose," shrugged Madge Hatter, further down the hall. "The prince's room - ha! _Your _room, is right here."

"Who _were _they?" asked Kit, in a whisper that feared spying ears were nearby.

"Only Randall Howl, the captain of the darn fool guard," said Madge in her crooked grin. "The old geezer was Ridley, who's been lickin' royal boots here since the invention of the wheel. The new guy, meh. Leopold. Some twerp with a twerp name. Scared of his own shadow."

She opened a tall and heavy wooden door, carved masterfully in embossed flowers, leaves and twining stems. "Here," was all she said.

Kit stepped inside, but so many things were on his mind at once that he hardly paid attention to where he was going. "What about, you know... the crown j-"

Madge shushed him sharply. "Don't even bother _sayin'_ those words 'round here. I'm thinkin' somethin' up, got it? 'Til I do, you stay put, outta sight and trap shut."

"Thinking of something, like what?" pressed Kit.

"Don't get pushy, prince," warned Madge. "I might have somethin' put together, maybe tomorrow. We'll see."

"But...!"

"We'll _see_," said Madge again, in a tone that allowed no further questions. She pulled the door shut and left Kit on the other side.

Dumptruck in a wig and dress would have made for a classier lady, thought Kit. Still, unpleasant as she was, she was an ally, and, behind these walls, now his one and only. The plan would not have been possible without her, yet to her credit she had never bragged about that. At least not yet.

Kit's head swam. All the answering to _your highness_-this and _your highness_-that, it was almost like _had _somehow switched bodies. And what was the plan Madge was putting together? He couldn't stay put, he was a pirate on a mission to _steal lots of things_. Slowly, he turned from the door, thinking, worrying, but was caught surprised by the splendor before him. Maybe he _could _force himself to stay put, for a while.

Prince Nanuk's bedroom was the entire upper rotunda of the southwest castle tower. It was round and spacious, with marble tiled flooring and thick-woven purple rugs, and an encircling wall of what was like one great bookshelf, housing volumes of books in every size and color, and abundant spaces for decorations and toys. It was separated in one place by a large brick fireplace, with flames that were red hot, cracking and roaring. Above the books, stained pine wood beams, shining like bronze, rose further above against ivory-colored masonry, to a ceiling that went high and higher. A great crystal chandelier with glowing electric lights in the fashion of candles was hung with mighty chains overhead.

At the far end was a balcony behind glass doors, and just before those a bath was hollowed into the stone floor, the size of a wading pool. There were blue flowers in vases among the shelves that made the air smell sweet, and the bed was one to behold. It was so big and tall that the prince must have had to climb the side to reach the mattress. The pillows and golden bedspread were thick, seemingly ready to burst, with fluffy down.

Among the countless toys were a train with its little track winding up and down floor, a BB gun and bullseye target, a miniature race car that looked strikingly like a shrunken version of the real thing, but nothing, nowhere, with _wings_. Kit frowned at that. No airplanes... what kind of nuts _were _these Polarians, anyway? He did spy one silver model Zeppelin airship, and that was his immediate favorite.

A stand by the bed had a silver platter with an untouched lunch: a heaping green salad with cranberries, pine nuts, a sweet honey dressing, and buttered rolls split and toasted on the side. This Kit took, along with the toy airship, and curled up in a purple velvet armchair that was near the fireplace. So wonderfully comfortable were the cushions that they seemed to pull him back and bind him there, holding him hostage in bliss. The salad had browned at the edges and the bread was stale and tough, but a leftovers gourmet like himself had no qualms. He removed his white gloves, shoes and socks, happy to air out and see again a little bit more of the _real _bear, and not his royal doppelganger.

There was not much time to enjoy the room's comforts before a forceful knock came at the door. It was the butler, Ridley. "Your Highness?"

Startled, Kit spilled the salad over the armchair and onto the floor. "Wh-what? What do you want?" he called back.

"You are wanted for dinner," said the butler.

"I'm not hungry!" said Kit. "Leave me alone!"

"Would that I could, Your Highness," replied the butler, half a mutter. "His and Her Majesty have a guest dining tonight. Your presence, I'm afraid, has been required."

As Kit shifted in the armchair, he saw, to his dread, that the white makeup that had been at the back of his head was now all over the back of the chair. "Aw cripes!"

"Your Highness? Are you all right?"

"Tell them I'm sick!" cried Kit, hastily digging for the tin of makeup in his pocket.

"What ails Your Highness?" asked the butler. "I shall send for a doctor."

"_My Highness _is melting all over the furniture," grumbled Kit. He began to smear a chunk of the greasepaint over his head and rubbed it in frantically. "I said _tell _them I'm sick, I didn't say I _was_," he called to the butler.

"One day, you will be king," said Ridley. "But until then, even you must do as the king wills." The door opened. "You are attending dinner."

"Augh! Don't come in!" Kit threw himself to the other side of the chair and took cover.

"Mr. Ridley, you're _scarin_' His Highness," said a venomous, croaky voice that was music to Kit's ears.

"I beg your pardon," huffed the butler.

"You can have it," said Madge. "_I'll_ get His Highness to supper. He doesn't much _like _you, does he?"

"You'll not get away with such an insolent tone, Miss Hatter," declared the butler.

Madge said nothing to him, but rapped on the door. "May _I _come in, Your Highness?"

Kit was scrambling for those gloves and shoes. "Yeah!"

"And Mr. Ridley?" she asked.

"No!"

Madge shrugged at the butler. "Seems like I got a way with young'ns."

Frustrated, Ridley finally gave up and left. "Just see that he's not late," he said, "or we'll both have it from the king."

Madge shut the door behind her, having the last word when the butler was far from earshot: "Go find somewheres to petrify, ya wrinkled old coot."

"What's going on?" asked Kit, pulling on his, or really Prince Nanuk's, black leather shoes.

"You got dinner with the family tonight, kid. Nothin' I can do 'bout it. They got Vinny Van Whent visitin', and the king wants the whole clan 'round for dinner. Lucky it's nothing formal."

"Vinny Van _what_?"

"Some dumb painter, s'posed to paint for the queen."

"But you said I'd be able to stay _away _from any kings and queens," said Kit worriedly.

"I said you'd _prob'ly _be able to stay away," snapped Madge. "Believe me when I tell ya, Klondike and Snowflower are 'bout as much parents as they are beggars. But I'll be damned if they didn't pick tonight to flaunt their pet prince. Better hurry before they send more busybodies up here."

At the prince's bureau, Kit brushed the greasepaint into his fur and combed his hair again. A fresh Nanuk looked at him in the mirror, and the prince looked awfully uncertain about how well his mother and father would recognize him.

"Just sit, eat, and be as miserable as ya look," said Madge. "I'll have more of this _gunk _you're wearin' made tonight."

* * *

><p>When Kit arrived at the dining room, King Klondike and and Queen Snowflower were already seated, enjoying glasses of wine, as was their artist guest, a stoat in black shirt, round spectacles and black beret. The latter respectfully stood when Kit entered, when someone announced, "His Highness, Prince Nanuk!"<p>

Kit did not look at them, did not blink, did not nod or wave or utter a sound. The table was long and narrow, capable of seating dozens, and the queen and the artist sat next to the king, at the head of the table. Kit went directly to the other end and sat, where he was half hidden from the others by a floral centerpiece.

"Oh, darling!" called out the queen. Her dainty, ring-laden fingers fluttered in a wave. "Aren't you handsome tonight!"

"Come sit closer, son," said the king. They could not hear the nervous _gulp _from across the room.

Kit said nothing, though he was thinking _noooooooo way_. He slouched in his seat, holding a fork and a knife in front of his face, as if silverware could hide him. He set both down when his shaky hands betrayed him.

"Don't pester the child," chided the queen. "He can sit where he pleases."

"He should greet our guest," said the king, sternly.

"I want to greet my food," said Kit suddenly, and he was more surprised than anyone that he had blurted that out. He regretted it instantly, for there was now an awkward silence in the room. They were staring at him... his voice did not fool them... they _knew_... of course they did, they were the prince's own mother and father...

The queen giggled. "My darling! If he wasn't a prince, he'd be a jester!"

And Kit could breathe again.

The king conceded his argument with a groan, and the food was brought out upon shining platters by the butler Ridley and other attendants. As they did, Guard Captain Randall Howl burst into the room and bowed. "Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion. A matter requires your attention. The bridge at Coldsparrow Pass has been besieged. Frost trolls, Your Majesty."

"Trolls? This far?" Klondike beheld his captain like he had been speaking a foreign language. "The only traffic on that bridge comes from the mine. Even a bandit could only hope to fill his pocket full of salt. And you're certain?"

"The caravan riders are quite certain," said Captain Howl. "They ran with their lives. Their wagons were overturned and destroyed."

The King leaned forward, now anxious. "_All _of them? And the salt?"

"The salt? Dashed, Your Majesty," replied Captain Howl. "I assume the trolls had no use for it."

"Yet _I_ do!" King Klondike's meaty fists came crashing into the table, making Vinny Van Whent flinch behind his spectacles. "Salt is money! That's a good ton lost, and we've promised Thembria six more before Tuesday. And this crazy woman I hear of, the one with the aeroplane! She came around four times today bushels of it. _Huh_. She's salting the sea for all I care, but she's _paying _for it. So tell me, why the blazes would a troll come miles from the mountains for _my salt_?"

"Oh dear," sighed the queen, while swirling the wine about her glass. "Spilled salt. How dreadfully awful. Or awfully dreadful, I'm not sure which."

Kit was listening intently, and not about the salt. _What's a troll_, he wondered. For no particular reason - perhaps some subconscious word association - Madge Hatter came to mind. Then, like he had somehow conjured her into existence by the thought, there she was, a shadow overlooking the table from the railing a floor above them. She was scowling deeply and rocking on the balls of her feet, looking both anxious and furious.

"Say the word, and I shall return with their hides," said the guard captain.

At that mention, Queen Snowflower took sudden interest. "Oh! Would they make good coats?"

"Bah, I'll not have their hides for being lost and woefully stupid," said the king. "Take a few armed men in the morning. See how many there are, see what they want if they'll talk. If they'll bargain, we'll bring them food in exchange that they go far away. Tell them they'll be shot if they return."

"As you say, Your Majesty," bowed Captain Howl. He was gone in a blink.

"Trolls, humph, dashing _my_ salt," huffed the king. "We'll deal with it tomorrow. Mr. Ridley! I believe were were about to dine. Let's eat!"

The help began serving at the head of the table, laying down plates of heaping food. The King wasted no time at stabbing at portions with his fork and shoveling them into his face.

The warm aroma made its way to Kit's end of the table, and he gave it a whiff. It smelled... like seafood. _Yuck_, he thought. Still, he supposed he could suffer through a few fish sticks if it would keep him in cover.

Ridley came down the length of the table carrying a particular covered bowl, and set it before Kit. "Your Highness' very favorite," he said with a smile, one that hoped to elicit a similar response from the prince. When Ridley pulled the lid away, a thick cloud of steam puffed and scattered, and when Kit peered inside, there was something looking back at him. A fish's head floated in white chowder with potatoes and green onions. Its silver jellied eye twinkled.

"What's _this_?"

The butler titled his head, not quite understanding the question. "Why, fish head chowder. Is there something not to your liking?"

Kit recoiled from it like he had just heard the fish gurgle for help. "Wh-where's the _rest _of it? The parts you make _sticks _out of?"

"I apologize, Your Highness. I thought this was your favorite meal."

_Not for all the crown jewels in the world_, thought Kit. "Not anymore," he said, cringing as he pushed the plate away.

"Oh, dear," said Ridley, disappointed. "Well, you'll still enjoy a helping of your favorite sauteed calamari, I presume?"

"All right," Kit nodded, a bit uncertain. If it was anything like spaghetti, he could eat that all day.

In a moment, Ridley returned with another covered dish, set it down, and removed the lid.

"What's _this_?" squeaked Kit, forgetting his princely voice. It was worse than the fish head: little squids in butter sauce with their tiny tentacles sprawled all over. And now there were _several _little eyeballs giving him dead, slimy stares.

"Calamari, Your Highness," said the butler, his tone tired.

"What a sneaky name for fish bait," cringed Kit, hands over his turning stomach. When he looked up the table, he saw the king, queen, and their guest slurping gelatinous meats from oyster and sea snail shells. It sounded worse than it must have tasted. Polarians, it seemed, would eat anything.

"Oh dear, are you having tummy aches?" asked Ridley, frowning at the prince's nauseous expression. "I knew there was _something _amiss. I think I _shall _have the doctor see you."

"No!" blurted Kit. It was enough to prompt Queen Snowflower to tilt her head in his direction.

"Is something wrong, darling?"

Dutifully, Ridley began to report his observations: "Your Majesty, it would seem His Young Highness may be coming down with..." His words were squelched beside him by a long, wet slurp. The prince had stuffed one of the buttered cephalopods in his mouth, and appeared to be savoring its flavor quite intently by his palate, for he was very, _very_ slow to chew. Little jiggly tentacles hung from his chin like a scraggly beard. Everyone looking at him knew it must have been delicious, exquisitely so, judging how his eyes glossed over in tasty rapture.

"He's coming down with a hearty appetite, like his old man," said an approving King Klondike, whilst he chewed up the tail of a stuffed squid from his chin to his lips. He then turned to this artist guest. "Now, about that portrait. You'll be able to settle a point between me and my lovely Snowflower."

"Oh, no," interrupted the queen. "His lovely Snowflower only regrets to inform you that she _shan't _be sitting for a portrait at this time."

The soft-spoken stoat set his fork down and dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. The news had seemed to shock him, and he hesitated before replying. "Oh. Well. I understand." He clearly did not.

"Let's not be hasty," said the king to the queen. "He's here, let's have him paint."

"Paint Klondike if you wish," said Snowflower. "I've had a change of mind."

"I don't _want _to be painted," said Klondike, his fists again rapping the table. "_You _wanted to be painted. That's why he's here." The king resumed with his question, "If Her Majesty-!"

"Klondike!" snapped the queen.

Clearing his throat, King Klondike started over. "Hypothetically... nothing to do with _anyone _in this room... if the subject of your portrait had, well, details not desired to be immortalized in picture, could you, the artist, simply ignore them? It's not like you'd be breaking some sort of _artist's oath_, correct?"

"I'm certain it's possible, Your Majesty," said the artist. "But, hypothetically, what type of details?"

The king shrugged. "Say, perhaps, a little gray hair here and there."

"You jiggling blabbermouth!" roared the queen. In an instant, she left the table and stormed out of the dining room, taking a housemaid, wine bottle and glass with her.

"But I didn't say it was _you_!" pleaded the king. "Come back, love! Love? The _boy's _here for once, you can't just... aw!" Once the queen was long gone, Klondike leaned on his elbow toward the artist and gestured for him to do the same. "She's been plucking out gray hair lately like a molting cockatoo."

The stoat smiled and nodded hesitantly, embarrassed.

Then the king addressed the other end of the table: "So much for the whole family at dinner, eh son? Ha!"

"Loads of fun," muttered Kit, wiping his tongue on a linen napkin. It was an understatement of the transfixed, wrenching horror he sat in as he watched the king slurp up plate after plate of squid, breaded, baked, fried, sauteed, and some of it looked slimy enough to be raw. Kit thought he remembered once seeing a circus sideshow venue with a similar act.

"You're excused if you wish," said Klondike to his heir, as he shoveled away the last of his dinner. Vinny Van Whent had portions of meager size and had already finished. "It's about time for a good prince to turn in," said the king. Then to his guest, he changed the subject. "Our photos from Pazooza were developed this morning. Come, have look! And what do you know about _Starrywood_? We've planned a holiday there next week."

In a moment the head of the table was vacant, and the staff cleared the dishes. King Klondike waddled down the hall with Vinny Van Whent in tow, excitedly explaining the possibility of him and the queen being "discovered" for motion pictures.

Kit was left with Ridley and others still standing attentively. He'd eat the tablecloth before he choked down another squid, but it was a terrible thing and a terrible sight, to be hungry and sit at a table full of food where nothing was actually edible.

"Would you care for a dessert before you retire, Your Highness?" offered Ridley.

_Dessert_, thought Kit with an air of dread... what horrors awaited on their dessert menu? Shark brain pudding? Eel-flavored ice cream?

"We were about to bring out a warm chocolate cake," said the elder butler.

Kit's eyes narrowed at him; what passed for cake in a castle that served snails for food? "Is it made out of octopus?"

Ridley, ever patient and long-suffering, spelled it out slowly for him: "It's chocolate cake. Your Highness."

The brightened smile on Kit's face was one that many castle attendants had longed to see on their prince, but he crumbled it into a sneer when he realized what he was doing, and who he was supposed to be. "Then I shall have some," he said pompously, and snapped his gloved fingers.

* * *

><p>Kit had put away half the chocolate cake by himself, and was <em>stuffed <em>with rich chocolaty sweetness while he waddled through the keep on his own. There were always some guards passing through whichever hall he turned, but now he was not worried. If he could dine with the prince's very own parents and make it out unscathed, he feared little else. He felt confident, he felt alert, and _alive_... he felt like the sugar from the chocolate frosting was going to his head.

One door and hallway led to the throne room, and it was publicly known that was the location Polaria's regalia was kept, when it was not donned by the king. Kit decided to investigate this route before returning to the bedroom; Karnage had told him to sniff around, it would have been good to have some information for the captain when they met again in the morning.

The throne room was a rectangular hall spanning the middle of the keep, with an arched ceiling that went as high as the keep was tall. A great arched double door, of heavy imported blackwood, now latched by an iron cross-beam, stood as the front entrance into the keep. Above it was a large round window, snowflake shaped, with several smaller snowflake windows circling it. Grand tapestries hung from the walls on the sides, woven shades of white, blue and purple depicting various images of Polaria, its landscapes, history, and people. On a marble floor, a giant round carpet lie before the throne, the image of a silver snowflake against a purple background, and the throne itself was at the head of a small stair covered in a deep purple carpet. It was a simple and splendid seat, though it lacked the shine of gems or precious metals; it was wooden, polished and stained a deep brown, ornately carved in floral designs, and large enough to command respect even while empty.

To the right of the throne, the Polarian crown jewels rested upon an uncovered display that was made to glisten by a spotlight fixed high above.

The crown, chief among the regalia, was upon a thick purple pillow with gold-threaded tassels. It's golden luster was mirror-like, and had large diamonds socketed all round it, and unique snowflake designs topped each of its eight arches. Around the purple pillow lay the other pieces of the set: a golden scepter, adorned on top with a snowflake design with an orb-shaped diamond at its center, a sword in a golden hilt and sheath, a diamond snowflake pendant on a golden chain, and a golden chalice.

There were also two castle guards on post in front of the crown, two burly black oxen with shaggy long fur. They were in addition to six others that spread out evenly through the hall, three on each side. Kit sauntered into the throne room like he owned the place, and as far as anyone watching knew, that was not far from the truth.

It was awkward being in a room with eight others and having nothing but stone silence. There couldn't have been much to do, thought Kit. No one ever trespassed or tried to steal anything... yet. Still, the guards stood like statues, wholly devoted to their duty. This he found concerning. Madge had spoken about "thinking something up," a distraction, perhaps? But getting the crown and any other pieces out of this room was going to get noticed, no matter what.

Kit stepped up the stairs to the throne, and walked nonchalantly to the crown. Though the guards said nothing, they were all watching, questioningly. That was foremost on his mind. He wanted to know how far he could get before one of them said something.

The oxen guards shifted in their boots when Kit picked up the diamond pendant and examined it. Their mouths tightened when it did the same with the golden chalice. Then, Kit reached for the crown, slowly, and he could hear them inhale as if ready to say something. Their tension was palpable. Kit caressed the diamonds; they were larger than anything he had seen in person, gems he thought you might find when you cracked open a buried pirate's treasure chest. Finally, he put his fingertips under the crown and began to lift it from its pillow, and the silence was broken.

"Your Highness," sternly said the guard to the right. The quietness in the room make it seem like he was shouting, and it made Kit start, even though he was expecting it. "You must not."

But, Kit was transfixed as he gazed at the crown. All the homeless seasons he had spent scouring for food scraps and sleeping under bridges, and now there was a genuine king's crown at his fingertips, a fortune of gold and diamonds forged into a single piece. There were gold coins and trinkets at Pirate Island, but he had not seen any with diamonds, let alone diamonds as big as his eyes. He started to see why Don Karnage went halfway around the world out of his way for it. He did not want to let go.

"Or what?" he asked the guard, a dare implied.

"Or... th-then..." The guard was flustered by the question and tone. "Then I must hold you here and send immediately for His Majesty."

Kit's gaze was undaunted; the tip of his tongue came peeking around his upper lip. They could send for the king, but he could snatch the crown and be off with it in a fraction of the time. He could take it, and run... run somewhere... and hide... somewhere...

_What am I doing! _thought Kit, in a sudden panic. He was likely to have the entire castle roused and questioning him if he kept this up. He jerked his hand away, let the crown slump back upon its resting pillow, and scurried out of the hall.

Back in the prince's bedroom, Kit shut the door and leaned against it, thinking. He was amazed that so much had gone right; in the time he had known Don Karnage, 'gone right' was not exactly one of the hallmarks of the captain's hatched schemes.

The maids had freshened the fire in his absence, left him a steaming hot bath heaping with lavender bubbles, and laid out night clothes over the foot of the bed. He also found a bowl of homemade white greasepaint sitting on the armchair, courtesy of Madge Hatter of course. The warmth and lavish comfort surrounding him made him feel like he was in a dream, and he did not want to wake up from it. He would have to sooner or later, but not this night.

He was done with the gloves and the shoes, and pushed the armchair across the room to barricade the door, just in case he needed to buy time before an intrusion. The bath's basin was so spacious that he could float in it. Having been so cold for the greater part of the last few days, soaking in the steaming bubble bath melted away the memory of the freezing water seeping through his sweater, the icy slush that made his toes numb, and the biting chill that made his teeth chatter. Also melting away was the paint from his face, and he was glad to be rid of it.

After a long soak, he toweled off and buttoned himself in the prince's silk pajamas, then climbed into the clutches of the king-sized bed. When he slipped under the blankets, he felt it was like lying in a warm cloud. The fluffy down pillows were almost bigger than he was. He hugged onto one, nuzzling its softness, until he fell asleep.

It was good to be a prince...

...but it was awful to be a pirate's prisoner.

Cold and hard were the bars of the _Iron Vulture's _brig. Behind those bars, Prince Nanuk curled on the iron floor, sobbing. On the other side of the bars was a viable party. Pirates had come in droves again and again to laugh at and mock their royal guest.

"No wonder he's bawlin'," one said. "We forgot to kidnap a butler for him!"

"Aww, no one to tie 'is shoes or wipe 'is nose," another chimed in.

Then Don Karnage stepped to the bars, his face long and sympathetic. "Oh, what _is _it, my pouting prince? Don't like the wallpaper?"

A roar of laughter rang so loud it was nearly deafening. But then, Nanuk wiped his tears on the sleeve of his silk purple shirt, and stood up and stepped toward Karnage, though quaking in his knees.

The pirates shushed themselves and waited for him to speak.

Nanuk quivered, their cruel and heartless gazes stabbed at him like pierces from a rapier blade. He wiped his face again on his sleeve once more, and found the courage to speak. "I am Prince Nanuk, of Polaria," he said, in a forced tone of authority. "I demand you release me."

The blast of hearty guffaws nearly knock the prince down. "If you don't..." he said, but their laughter drowned his words. "If you don't...!" he shouted. Don Karnage gestured for his crew to quiet. The prince continued, "If you don't, if you do anything to me, my father will have your heads, and stick them on pikes!"

The pirates _ooh_'ed and hooted at the imminent threat.

Karnage shushed them again, then knelt down to eye level with Nanuk.

"You know, you are right! Think about how your father _would _break these walls and rip these bars apart, and save your skimpy skin!" said the captain. "And then, perhaps he _would _want this handsome head on a spike, and you all live happily ever after." Karnage waited a beat, giving the prince time to think on that and hope for it. Then he shook his head and clicked his tongue. "_Tsk_! If only he knew you were gone."

The sting was as severe as Karnage had hoped. Prince Nanuk was beaten back by the mere sound of their laughter, and he slid down the wall, as if pushed by the very weight that was crushing his soul. His sleeves were soggy.


	8. Stealing lots of things

**Chapter 8**

**Stealing lots of things**

The library in Snowshine Keep had more to offer than books for those who were not inclined to visit for reading. For those inclined to find, as Don Karnage would have put it, _knick-knacks to nick_, it was not a disappointing source of art and shiny trinkets that may have been worth something.

There were paintings there that were hung in order according to what time in Polaria's history they depicted, beginning with a picture of a white bear in arctic furs standing in front of an igloo. Then another bear standing in front of two igloos. Then a _big _igloo with a wagon full of salt, and a blue Thembrian handing over coin to the igloo's residents. There were dozens more, each as exciting as the last.

In the center of the room was a bronze statue of old King Snowpaw. It had a plaque that commemorated his claim to Polarian fame, that he, in the late 18th century, was the first to commission and wear Polaria's first crown, the very one used in present day. The only thing Kit cared about the statue was that it was too heavy for him to lift. And where the heck would he put it even if he could?

In the early morning bustle of the keep, Kit was on this third trip from the library, this time with a silver candlestick and a china vase in his arms, and a rolled up fine tapestry over his shoulder.

Ridley the butler regarded him as if the prince had lost his mind. "May I be of assistance, Your Highness?"

"I'm redecorating," said Kit. "And you're in my way."

Ridley sighed and stepped aside, and spoke the parting words that had been customary since the prince could talk: "As you say, Your Highness."

It was a great morning to be a pirate in prince's clothing. After a terrific sleep, Kit was awake before most of the castle, and hit the grounds in full Nanuk-like disguise, eager to explore. He climbed walls, traversed old passages, discovered nooks and crannies, shafts and crevices that were like secret passages from one place to another, and scouted the layout of Snowshine Keep.

Don Karnage was to meet him soon back in the garden, and he intended to have a worthwhile thing or two for the captain to take back to their airship. As the captain said, _steal lots of things_. The good stuff was, not surprisingly, the toughest to get to. The queen's jewelry was kept in her bedroom, and she seemed content not to wonder far from there. He had also heard something about "the vault," which he would investigate later. In the meantime, he took what he could and left it behind the tool shed of the garden, next to the hidden tunnel. Then, more exploring... and, he happened to make a few plans regarding the crown jewels.

Kit was waiting for Karnage in the garden when a village bell tower struck ten heavy chimes. He was mighty pleased with himself and couldn't wait to tell the captain all about his big idea. While waiting, he occupied himself by trying to make a snowman out of what was left of the melting slush, without much luck. Still, he discovered snow wasn't half bad to play in when you had enough on to keep you warm, such as the things he found in Nanuk's wardrobe: a heavy purple knit scarf, matching mittens, and small snow boots just his size.

At last, a faint sound of kicked and rolling rocks came from behind the tool shed. "Boy?" called Karnage, in a loud whisper.

"Coast is clear, fearlessly leading leader," said Kit, kneeling at and not turning from his effort at the snowman. "I gave the gardeners the day off." He could _really _get used to this business of telling people what to do. Earlier he ordered the footman Leopold to strut and _bawk _like a chicken while doing his rounds, and it happened until Ridley put a stop to it and scolded them both.

A tumbling of clanking and breaking sounds meant that Karnage had lifted the planks hiding the tunnel exit and knocked over the small pile of castle odds and ends Kit had left for him. "Watch out the vases!" Kit told them, wincing at the sound of broken glass.

Karnage tripped and fell on a rolled tapestry as he stumbled from the shed, taking a snout full of slush on the ground. Once again, he was donning that raggedy overcoat. Dumptruck and Mad Dog followed, muttering and bickering as they crawled out to the surface.

"Well? What do you think?" asked Kit, smiling proudly on behalf of his pilfering handiwork.

"Such a wonderful collection," said Karnage, spitting dirty bits of ice out of his teeth. "Who needs the crown jewels when I have ashtrays and tea cups!"

Kit's smile deflated like the air out of an untied balloon. The captain had apparently gotten up on the wrong side of the pirate ship. He wanted to say that out loud, except it probably would have turned into another quarrel about the condition in which he had left the captain's cabin on the _Iron Vulture_. "If it's not good enough for you, I'll put it back," he said.

Karnage's chest puffed defiantly at the notion. "N_nno_," he said, and with a snap of his fingers, Mad Dog and Dumptruck were filling bags with the goods. Now the boy was turning him a shoulder colder than the frosted ground. Karnage stepped away from the shed, and kept his voice low so the others would not hear him. "Perhaps, it is not _entirely _that terrible, boy."

"Aw, you're making me blush," Kit said dryly.

"Have you found anything with diamonds? Rubies? Gold?"

"I'm _working _on it."

"Then be working on it hard...der..." Don Karnage's voice trailed as he zeroed in on what Kit was _currently _at work on, a round pile of snow the size of an average pumpkin. Something told him he would regret asking, but he did anyway. "What. Is. _That_."

"What's it look like? It's a _snowman_," said Kit. He shrugged at Karnage's bemused stare. "Well... I can't get it any taller, so it's just the head. I guess it's a snow-_head_. Can you guess who it's supposed to be?"

Two hollowed-out holes made the eyes, two garden scoopers make up the ears, pieces of charcoal in half-circles made the brows, a gnarled cone of snow smashed in shape by Kit's fingers made up a snout, and a big round piece of charcoal made a nose. Kit couldn't help but giggle when he looked back up at Karnage. "I'll give you a hint, but you'll get _ahead _of yourself!"

Karnage cupped his forehead like he had just been given the worst headache, but Kit thought he saw him smile, and it made him laugh all the more. Then Karnage bent down and scooped himself two handfuls of slush and dead grass, and grinned viciously. "Let me show you how _I_ make a snow-bear!"

"Wait!" laughed Kit, shielding himself with his arms. "No smudging of his majesty's mug! You said!"

"Who's this now?" said a different voice behind them that made them both flinch. A guard in his red and black uniform held a musket in his hands, pointed at Karnage. Kit jumped to his feet just as Karnage flung the snow from his hands and felt for his cutlass under his overcoat. The captain's stance was poised to strike suddenly. The guard was between them and the tool shed, and did not see Dumptruck and Mad Dog with their pistols aimed.

"What are you doing?" demanded Kit, taking up the voice of the prince. He got between the guard and Karnage, prompting the guard to lower his weapon immediately.

"Your Highness, you know this tramp?" asked the guard.

"Who are _you _calling — ow!" Karnage's indignant words were stifled by an elbow to this thigh.

"Are you stupid?" said Kit. "This is, uh... the new _gardener_."

"The new gardener?" repeated the guard, speaking also what Karnage was thinking.

"Yeah," said Kit. "Um... _José_. The gardener."

Karnage grinned and waved. "'Allo!"

"I've not been told of any new gardeners," said the guard.

"Why should you? It's _my _garden!" Kit's voice was a petulant shout. "Go find some work to do before I turn _you_ in!"

"Apologies, Your Highness!" The flustered guard took half a hurried bow and left with haste. While Karnage exhaled, Kit smirked at him in rich, unadulterated, one-hundred-percent pure smugness. And it occurred to Karnage, with some surprise, that his puny protege had become quite comfortable in this princely facade.

"Just don't get used to it," sneered the captain, with a slap between Kit's shoulder blades, half _attaboy _and half _remember who's in charge_. "So? What about the jewels?"

"Crown jewels are right where you said they'd be," said Kit. "But so are eight guards."

"What did the maid say?"

That reminded Kit: "What do you think a troll looks like?"

"_Never mind _what she look like. She is suppose to help."

"She keeps saying she'll think something up, but she's not telling me. I looked for her during breakfast, but I don't know where she went."

"Breakfast!" snapped Karnage. "Stop hob-nobbing with snobs, boy. They get a good a look and..." He made a cutting gesture over his neck with his thumb... "_crckck_!"

"There were _waffles_," argued Kit. Some things were obviously worth the risk. "And I bet _you _never had to hob-nob through six courses of squid. Captain, his own _mom and dad_ didn't even know it was me. That's... that's kind of sad, isn't it?"

"For _who_?"

Kit shrugged. "Not for me, I guess. I don't wanna wait for the maid. Something's weird. You remember that she didn't even ask for a price before she agreed to help?"

"And what do _you _remember? _This _was you." The captain demonstrated Kit's attendance at the tavern meeting by closing his eyes, rolling his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and snorting a big snore.

"You trust her?"

"Of course not!" said Karnage. "That is why you tell me what you see, I make a plan up in my amazing mind, and we _take _them."

"I'll have the crown jewels tomorrow," said Kit, as if it were a simple matter of fact.

"Oh? _Do _tell."

Kit was suddenly _beaming _to tell him. "I'm getting my picture painted!"

Karnage didn't think he heard him correctly, though it was very clear. Then he found a bench and sat down. He felt like he was going to need to, to hear this...

As it happened, earlier that morning, the princely pretender made the acquaintance of visiting artist Vinny Van Whent, his painting talents freshly snubbed by the queen the night before. He asked the artist if he would paint a prince instead, the idea being the prince in his father's throne, in his father's crown and full royal regalia. He had Ridley pose the question to the queen. It was the most _darling _idea she had ever heard in her life, and King Klondike could not get in a word in edgewise to protest before the queen _demanded _that it happen.

Thus, it was planned, for first thing the following morning. The prince would have his portrait painted. Kit wouldn't have to swipe the crown jewels from their place next to the throne. They were going to dress him with them.

"You'll get me out, right?" asked Kit.

Don Karnage was stroking the fur on his chin and thinking fervently. He liked what he had heard. Slowly but steadily, with the aid of Roxy Post and her plane, the avalanche of snow crushing _Iron Vulture _had been thinned down with salt and brine, and the airship was expected to have enough cleared off its top rotors by nightfall, where it could shake off the rest and be free. Before morning they would have their CT-37s and other planes at their disposal. A few pot shots from the _Iron Vulture's _cannons, the attack planes buzzing the castle towers... creating a distraction of sudden chaos and panic would be easy.

Polaria had no defenses the _Iron Vulture _could not withstand, certainly for as long needed to swoop down and drop a ladder for the boy while laying down cover fire, and escape to Pirate Island several diamonds heavier.

At length, Karnage replied with a smirk. "Do it," he said. "Run for it when _I _open the front door."

"Oh yeah? How you gonna do that?"

"What have I _taught_ you? It goes like this: knock knock!"

"You're gonna just knock?"

"No! Knock knock!"

"Wait, are you _really_ trying to tell a knock-knock j-"

"Knock _knock_," growled Karnage.

"Uh, right. Who's there?"

"_Boom_!" Karnage shot to his feet with the sudden exclamation, and it made Kit fall back on his phony royal rump. "_That,_ my boy, is how you open a door," said the captain, eagerly rubbing his hands together. He told Kit to meet him once again in the garden at midnight for final instructions about the morning, and, importantly, gave him a shopping list to remember: "Gold, diamonds, rubies, pearls... and see if they have cookies and milk, too."

* * *

><p>Kit spent the afternoon combing the castle inside and out, looking for hiding places and routes of quick escape, just in case.<p>

Snowshine Keep was three floors. The bottom floor was the hub of the castle attendants, and had the kitchen and servants quarters. The second floor was the main floor; there was the throne room, accessible from outside by a great granite stairway. Presently, King Klondike occupied his throne there, and was holding court inside the great hall, which was abuzz with the who's-who of Polarian government. All three of them. Surrounding the throne room in adjacent wings were the dining hall, a music hall, and ball room. The third floor had the the library and study, cozy cabinet rooms, and extended living areas.

Then there were the towers. The upper rotunda of the southwest tower was the prince's bedroom, and below that was a division of apartments for more guests. The entire southeast tower was likewise the living quarters of the king and queen, and that was always heavily guarded on every floor. Kit stayed away from there. The two northern towers held the barracks, and offices of the Polarian Royal Guard, including an infirmary attended by nurses and Captain Howl's chambers overlooking the village.

The towers were connected by stretches of grand hallways for residents and guests, and side passages for servants, but Kit had discovered that day the perfect means for a distinguished sneak to get around, the furnace ducts. Just like as on the _Iron Vulture_, albeit with much warmer drafts, he opened the vent grates in the walls and could crawl though the lengths of the keep, unseen and unnoticed.

From room to room, he watched and listened to the chatter and gossip of the guards and servants. Maids complained about being bullied by Madge Hatter and claimed she feigned illness to skip out of work today to get drunk at the pub. There was some talk about the prince's nanny, too, how she was awaiting trail, and gossip of her pleas had carried lip-to-ear over the entire keep. The gist of her claim was that Madge Hatter had been stealing copious amounts of food from the kitchen, and she was just about to prove it when the queen's bracelet suddenly found its way into her room, a crime coincidentally reported by Madge Hatter.

Of the guards, he heard that Captain Randall Howl and two others had departed in the morning for Coldsparrow Bridge in search of frost trolls, also known as 'those hairy buggers.' They also commented on how spry the prince seemed today, how he was seen exploring all over the castle grounds; as one said it, "You'd think he'd never seen the place before."

Another guard mentioned to his counterparts that he was on his way to take a post at "the vault." The two words lingered in Kit's mind. He thought he should look up this vault and see what was worth guarding.

Elsewhere, he overheard Ridley and Leopold sitting at their lunch.

"How could I say no, sir, to the prince?" asked Leopold, timidly.

"When he commands you _cluck_, that's when," said Ridley, sipping at a spoonful of hot soup. "Come see me instead."

Leopold glanced up at the ceiling, at the walls, the floor... he thought he heard a snicker, somewhere. "Won't the king or queen..." He paused, and his voice became a whisper. "Won't they do anything about him? What kind of king would he make?"

Ridley thought about it for a moment. "I often wondered the same of His Majesty's parents, rest their souls," he replied. "Ah, _Prince _Klondike was the most mischievous and rambunctious lad I ever knew. Always having his fun, hardly caring for the duty that would be his. My patience was tried at every turn, for years. I admit, it was a fright for us all when he was left to take the throne, still so young. I still see the boy in him, but also he found the _king _in him, and he's held this kingdom together. Look how the people adore him."

"Still, it's difficult to see the prince like the king," remarked Leopold.

"Maybe," said Ridley, "Bear in mind, the arrest of his nan last week was a terrible business. She was like a mother to him, and a woman of the best quality, I thought. I can scarce believe her for a thief. We were all stung, but I think he was deeply hurt by the loss. I try to step in now and again with a bit of friendship, or an encouraging word. 'Tis not my place to judge His or Her Majesty, but... the prince is lonely."

* * *

><p>Lonely indeed was Prince Nanuk, and afraid.<p>

In the early hours of the morning, when most of the pirates were asleep, the prince had caught a moment of courage and attempted an escape his cell, by squeezing through the bars. What the pirates found in the morning was him with his head stuck, helpless and crying. For the pirates, it was Christmas come early with a nicely wrapped gift.

So, the games began. The _Vulture's _brig was turned into a joyous carnival affair. They raided the galley of vegetables, eggs, and anything, then stood behind imaginary lines as they played _Pelt the Prince_. Though no one was actually keeping track, high scores went to those who laid direct hits on the head, and points were also considered for originality and difficulty. Lobbing one egg was easy, lobbing three at a time took some skill. Ratchet passed around some spare rubber engine belts and they tried to toss a few ringers, too.

The prince shouted and ordered them to stop, threatened them with the wrath of his king father and his guards, but it was not until he fell to his knees and begged them that they grew tired of their fun, right about when Don Karnage returned from seeing Kit in the castle garden. He exploded in a fit of anger for all the food wasted, and swore that none of them would eat that night. The pirates filed out of the brig glumly, muttering, their heads hung low.

That left Karnage alone with the prince. "Tell me if you heard this one, h'okay? A prince walks into a bar... two of them!"

The prince's head and hands were slick and slimy with things like tears and egg yolk and bits of beans and noodles, and he mustered a glare at Karnage that was yet fearful but absolutely _hateful_. Karnage took exception to that, and with a twist and flash of steel, the point of his cutlass was instantly at Nanuk's chin.

Nanuk screamed and shot up to his feet, all the way that he was standing on his toes, and pulled, _pulled_, to get his head free.

"What was that, wr_rr_etch?" Karnage cupped his left ear and leaned forward. "I thought you had something to say. No?"

The sound of Nanuk's sniveling was satisfying to Karnage when they first locked him in the cell, but now it was just irritating. While the prince struggled against the bars, Karnage decided, reluctantly, to give his forehead a hefty push and pop him loose, if it would just shut him up for a while. But as he did, the prince lashed out: "Don't touch me!" The cry was so loud and shrill it made the wolf's ears sting.

Karnage chortled at him, sheathed his cutlass and left the prince to work his own way out of the iron noose he made for himself. It was just as well, he didn't want get egg on his hands, anyway.

* * *

><p>Kit emerged from a furnace vent in the hall near the prince's bedroom, the white greasepaint on his face sweaty and full of dust. He thought had a good idea how to navigate the ducts to the queen's wardrobe, where her jewelry boxes were located. Now, though, he needed a fresh coat of makeup.<p>

Unexpectedly, Madge Hatter, Mr. White and Chester the Cat were waiting for him behind the bedroom door.

Before he could ask them where they had been all day, Madge stampeded at him and bounced against the wall with her ample-sized belly. "I told ya to stay put," she said. "Stay put and outta sight, and you go get that loopy weasel to paint yer portrait? Without talkin' to _me _first?"

"Wh-what's wrong with that?" asked Kit nervously. They had him surrounded, Chester the Cat with his cleaver twirling in his hand.

"You were s'posed to wait for me, wait for _my _plan!" she snarled. "That was the deal! If you get caught early, don't you worry 'bout them guards. You worry 'bout _me _an' what _I'll_ do to ya!"

"But you weren't...!" When Kit began to speak his defense, a word had caught in his head. "Early?"

When Madge hesitated, Mr. White interjected: "She means before you get the _goods_," he said. "Not very bright, this kid. Not at all!"

"You should listen to us," suggested Chester the Cat, softly. Now he occupied himself by balancing the handle of his cleaver on one finger. "Or bad things could happen."

"Any questions?" Madge flashed her lone fang in a fierce sneer she glowered over the boy.

"No," answered Kit, meekly. "What do you want me to do, then? What's _your _plan?"

Madge smirked and opened the door. "Get yer picture painted tomorrow. It wasn't a bad idea, so we'll think of somethin' to work with it."

"Huh?"

"I was makin' my point," she said, jabbing her pump clawed finger into Kit's chest. "Don't try to make a move without us. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Wait," called Kit after them as they were about to leave the room. "Do you guys know what the vault is?"

The three stopped in their tracks like they had been hit with a freeze ray. Madge turned to him, her eyes flashing. "What?"

"The vault," said Kit. "What is it? Where's it—"

Madge had her claw pointed at his chest, once again, in an instant. "It's _nothin'_," she hissed. "You remember what I said. Stay put, dammit."

"Sure," agreed Kit. If he were Pinocchio, his nose would have sprouted so long and fast that it would have knocked out that ugly long tooth out of Madge's crooked maw. When she, the cat and the rabbit exited the hall through a service door, Kit shut himself in the bedroom and began to brush the dust out of his hair at the prince's bureau. He would only be long enough to freshen his disguise. It was about time to find the vault.


	9. Secrets

**Chapter 9**

**Secrets**

Leopold the young footman would probably sing if the prince told him to. If Kit asked Ridley or one of the guards about the vault, he thought they may get suspicious. But Leopold... he seemed newer at being a footman than Kit was at being a prince.

Kit armed himself with a scowl and haughty airs when he found Leopold that evening, by himself, wheeling a rack of the king's laundered clothes down a hall. The faux prince caught up behind him and cleared his throat. The footman jumped when he realized who it was, and bowed so quickly that he stumbled.

"Y-your Highness! May I be of service?"

"What's the vault?" asked Kit, without ado.

"Your Highness... you're asking _me _about the vault?

"You work here, right? Don't you know?

"Why, yes s-sir, I mean, Your Highness! That vault is... well, it's _a vault_, sir! Your Highness!"

"Where _is _it?"

The leopard tilted his head. "You don't know?"

"Of course _I_ know!" said Kit, indignantly. "Don't you?"

"Yes, Your Highness! It's below, in th-the undercroft," answered the nervous footman. "I've never seen it, actually. Just the door, by Their Majesties' tower."

"Uh-huh. And what's _in _it?"

"Why... m-money."

"Really?" For an instant, Kit forgot his haughty voice. "How much?"

"Your Highness, p-please!" pleaded the nerve-wracked footman. "I don't know, truly!"

"Oh. Well, you pass the pop quiz. Good job!" Kit parted with a pleasant smile and a thumbs-up, just to confuse him all the more.

Sunset had come when Kit found the entrance to the undercoft Leopold spoke of, a stone archway where a musket-toting guard stood at each side, and a stone stairway going down. He had been avoiding this area, because the guards seemed to swarm the southeast of the keep, keeping careful watch of the doors belonging to the king and queen's chambers. But now, most of them had seen him traipsing about, and though no one questioned him with words, their inquisitive glances certainly did. This was apparently a part of the keep Prince Nanuk was not inclined to appear.

The only way he had gotten through any conversation with a guard or other attendant was to jump into his act with both feet. Now, though, as the two guards at the archway waited silently for him to say something, he hesitated, thinking how he was to explain why he was there... why would the prince want to go down dusty old hall to see a vault? Kit's fingers began to tremble, and he folded his white-gloved hands together at his waist.

"Your Highness?" It was Ridley. "The guards sent for me. What brings you down here?"

"I thought I... I want to see the vault," said Kit.

"What ever for?" asked the butler.

"I just want to look at it," replied Kit, tilting his nose up and remembering: _snooty!_ "Why not?"

Ridley's straight shoulders bent just with a hint of a shrug. "Well, if its all right with these boys, I don't see why not. What say you, boys? I'll attend His Highness, if it would please you."

"His Highness Prince Nanuk wishes to see the vault!" called one of the guards, down the stretch of the stairway. A voice returned from below, "Aye!"

"I don't need you're help," Kit told Ridley, while he he stomped down the stairway.

"Oh, I'm not going because _you _might need me, Your Highness." The old malamute followed him, a twinkle in his eye behind his spectacles. "I'm going because the guards might."

The room below was old and bare, with plain frosted-glass lamps strung from the ceiling. Gray stone blocks of the same cut made up the floor and walls, and iron beams along the walls bent and met as arches to support the brick ceiling.

There were three guards in the room; two bearing muskets, wearing the usual red coats and black trousers, and one, a white wolf with gray eyes, whose uniform was a sky-blue coat with sergeant chevrons on the sleeve and medals pinned to his chest.

The vault was indeed what its name implied, and its door made up nearly the entirety of the far wall; it was big, round, black and iron, with a great turn wheel and a combination dial. Around the top circular curve of the vault door was the only decoration in the room, fancy flowing letters wrought in the metal and painted silver: _Salt is Money_.

Kit bit his bottom lip, and could taste the greasepaint around his mouth. The vault looked big enough to hold something huge. "I want to see inside," he said.

The sergeant in the blue coat smiled politely. "I cannot open it without His Majesty's permission, Your Highness. My apologies."

"But I wanna _see _it," said Kit in a faked tone that was borderline a tantrum.

"Now now, Your Highness," said Ridley. "They have their orders, you know there's nothing they can do." The sergeant folded his arms and nodded in agreement.

Kit considered that he probably was not going to _snoot _his way though this one, not if he wanted to see the other side of that iron door. So, he looked at Ridley composing the saddest and most disappointed expression he could muster, and fake as it was, it just about floored the old butler. "Please?" asked Kit, softly. "Just once?"

While Ridley stammered in surprise of the sudden gentleness of his prince, the guard reaffirmed his orders. "I cannot, Your Highness. Only His Majesty can―!"

"Please?" Kit turned his pathetic gaze to the guards next. They became as flustered as Ridley.

"Who would know, anyway?" said Ridley to the guard. "Let him have a look, good man. Just quickly."

The sergeant glanced at his two counterparts, who promised their silence on the matter by stepping clear of the vault door. He muttered something about going to prison while he turned the combination dial, then turned the wheel lock. The door rattled with the sound of a dozen latches releasing, and its iron hinges groaned as it slowly swung open.

It was dark inside the vault. Dark green. There were stacks, and stacks, _and stacks _of money. The scent of all the ink and paper met Kit's nose like that of fresh cut grass. It was hypnotic to look at, all those thousands of bills stacked neatly like miniature green skyscrapers, and the one lone thought in his head was uttered: "That's _a lot _of money."

It was over in a blink. The sergeant pushed the door shut and locked it. By the end, he was sweating nervously. Ridley nudged his prince on the shoulder, to try to snap him out of his trance. "Your Highness? You see? A kind word begets a kind favor."

_I gotta tell the captain!_ was all Kit could think. That, and still, _That's a lot of money! That's _a lot _of money! _He left the vault room without a word of thanks.

"Well," sighed Ridley, "it was nice while it lasted."

* * *

><p>The worst humiliation of having his head stuck between the brig's cell bars was when the pirates brought him his supper. At least, that's what Prince Nanuk thought at the time, when they offered him a meager meal of a scoop of beans, leaving it on the floor in a bowl for him to eat on the ground. <em>A dog like the rest of us<em>, they said. He was wrong, though. The worst humiliation was when they put a raggedy pillow at his feet and wished him sweet dreams.

Now that the hour was late, the airship had grown quiet, at least as far as brig visits went. In the quietness, Nanuk could hear the sounds from outside. An airplane had been making countless low passes for hours now, and each time made the iron walls buzz with the noise of its engine.

The stiffness and soreness in his neck was so tormenting that he was avowed to ask the next pirate who walked in to help him, like that despicable red wolf was about to do. How he wished that he would have just suffered through that moment instead of screaming at him. Now it seemed like he would not see anyone until morning, and morning was an eternity away. His jaw was raw from all his attempts to pull free. The pain would have made him bawl if he had any more tears left.

He tried once more, grasping the bars with both hands, wriggling his head up and down, from his toes to his knees, but it was no use. It just hurt more. He wailed a lonely cry that echoed back in his ears.

Anger surged and dueled away his fear and self-pity, and his mind was consumed in a vision of the red wolf's neck in a noose, stretched and crooked. The rest of them, too. Then they'd know what it was like. He wanted it so much, almost more than he wanted to ease the pain in his own neck.

The walls buzzed again when the plane outside made another pass. He felt the vibrations in the bars. He swallowed, shifted an arm and shoulder between the bars, and pushed. His feet barely tread and slid over the iron floor, but he kept on, squirming until his shoulder and arm were through, and crying out as the bars squeezed against his ribs. He could hardly gasp for breath, but still he squirmed, he wriggled, and _pushed_...

* * *

><p>Dinner that night was a salmon steak and peas, left on a covered platter in the prince's room, with no demands that evening of a family gathering. The king and queen were entertaining themselves in the upper floors of the keep viewing motion picture "talkies" from a new fancy projector Klondike recently purchased. An invitation to join them was extended to their son via a footman, and not a second time after it was rejected.<p>

Kit left the salmon dinner covered. Out on the prince's balcony, he slouched over the railing, watching the sky turn a deep golden color in the west. The pine trees in forest were a shade greener than they were yesterday, as was the garden below. The snow was melting. He wondered how well the _Iron Vulture _was coming along; he wondered what the captain would say when he told him about all the money sitting below the castle, and if it would change his plans. He wondered how the real prince was doing, if he was putting the pirates through half as much grief as he put the castle staff through. He wondered how long he could keep this act up, if he really wanted to. The fluffy bed and the nice clothes had been a treat, but he couldn't wait to be Kit Cloudkicker again. He wanted ditch the stuffy white gloves and the shoes, to _fly _again on the _Iron Vulture_, and stop having to worry if he got too much paint in his eyebrows, or not enough on his chin.

He had a few hours before he was supposed to meet Don Karnage, to speak about tomorrow. The big day. It was staggering when he thought how he had suddenly jumped from picking pockets to stealing crowns. He had yet but one more task to look into before midnight... two, counting the milk and cookies... he needed to see if he could get his paws on any the queen's jewelry boxes. For that, it was back to the furnace ducts.

The route started from a vent in the prince's room. From there he followed the small, square tunnels eastward, at least to the best he could tell. It was hard to tell where exactly he was at any point, but he came across the room where Klondike and Snowflower were watching their film. He could not see them, but heard the scratchy music and their conversation. They were speaking of the crown jewels.

"It's not traditional," griped Klondike. "It's downright sacrilegious."

"Oh, _phooey_ on tradition," said the queen. "He'll look _darling_. It will be cute."

"Cute! The crown, _cute_, you say. Humph!"

The same old bickering, Kit thought. He scooted along his way, but what Klondike said next game him pause.

"What if he asks questions about it?" said the king. "He's too young to know... the _secret of the crown jewels_."

It was spoken with such dramatic overtone that Kit wondered if they knew they had an audience.

"If it bothers you, do something about the bloody secret," said the queen. "Have a new crown made and start over with it."

Klondike snorted at the idea. "Make a new one? My great-great-grandfather put Polaria on the world map with that crown. Look how they flocked just to glimpse of it in Pazooza! There's history in our crown. Proud history. Tradition!"

"Then tell your son," sighed Snowflower.

"_No_," pouted the king.

The music had ended, replaced by giggles and smooches as the king and queen tittered about their trip to Starrywood. Kit could move along or he could get sick in the ducts, and he chose to move along.

The ducts were pitch black except where a grate was placed to spread the warm air into a room or hall, and Kit was crawling through a stretch that was dark for a long time. Hands and knees, one at a time, he felt his way carefully, and eventually saw a glimpse of light, and probably close to the queen's wardrobe. Before he could get to it, however, his hands suddenly felt nothing for him to crawl on. The bottom had opened up into a vertical shaft, and he could not see how wide it was.

Grumbling and cursing his luck, he stretched a hand out as far as he could and felt for the other side. "C'mon, it can't be that far," he muttered. It turned out, it _was _that far, and while he was reaching he lost his balance. With a yelp, he tumbled into darkness, bouncing around the sides of the shaft until he hit bottom.

He groaned and coughed, and his hip smarted fiercely as it was the first to hit the ground. Dust was heavy and the air was hot and smelled of smoke, now so much closer to the furnace was he. At length he found another grate, and could have cared less where it was, he was going to roast if he didn't get out soon. To open it he had to prop his back against the side of the duct and kick it several time, and it eventually popped loose. He emerged into a bare and bleak room of gray stone brick that reminded him a lot of the vault, except this room had bars. A holding cell.

"Who's there?" a woman's voice asked. Then she gasped. "Nanuk? The heavens, boy, what are yeh... yeh..."

Kit's eyes met hers, and hers pierced straight through his disguise and found the impostor within. She was the only genuine white-furred bear between them, tall and broad shouldered, black hair tied up in a bun, and a blue dress, divided at her ample waist with a dark blue belt. _The nanny_.

"Who the blazes are _you_," she demanded. "Where'd yeh get those clothes? _Where's _Nanuk?"

Kit had backpedaled into the wall, caught in such fright, one that blindsided him and threw him off his guard. Someone _knew_, and she looked like she was fit to rip the jail bars apart to get to him.

"_Where's _Nanuk?" she demanded again. "Guards! Help! Guards!"

Kit's heart was beating inside his eardrums. Two guards came running into the room, and met the prince with utter shock. "Your Highness? What are you doing _here_?"

"Look at him, yeh blind mice!" shouted the nanny. "That's not the prince! That maid! She has something to do with this, I know it! That's _not Nanuk_!"

Kit couldn't put two words together. With a dreadful feeling squeezing his heart, he only then noticed splotches of the white greasepaint smeared on his sleeves. The guards regarded him suspiciously. It was over, the whole thing, he had to _run_, run for his life...

"You're Highness, how did you get down here?" asked one of the guards.

Only one quick stride of escape had Kit taken before he stopped. Despite the nanny's relentless clamor and accusations, the guards still didn't know. Kit had to concentrate to find the snooty voice of the prince and the right answer. "You'd know if you were paying attention!"

While the nanny screamed at the guards for them to go after him, spouting about conspiracies and that the real prince was in danger, Kit hurriedly left the area for the prince's bedroom to freshen his disguise. Then, he thought he should tell Madge about all of this.

Madge Hatter, however, was nowhere to be found when he went looking. Some of the staff said she had been seen in the kitchen last. Prince Nanuk probably would not have been caught dead traipsing about the servant's floor downstairs, but Kit Cloudkicker was resolved not to be caught dead _anywhere _if somehow the nanny convinced someone to listen to her.

The surprised kitchen staff came unglued to see His Royal Highness in their midst. They dropped their pots and pans, took their bows and spoke their nervous courtesies. Kit was to the point when he asked where Madge had gone.

"In the larder, m'lord," replied a young dishwasher, gesturing at a swinging door. "She's helpin' some of cooks straighten up. Can I be of service to His Highness?"

"Yeah, stay out!" said Kit, while he hurried to find Madge. The larder was a chilly, cabin-like room built as an extension outside the stone keep. It had shelves, counters, and cupboards abundant with jars, sacks, boxes of various foods, a little market unto itself... but still no Madge. There was a door on the far end leading outside to the stables, but it was latched and locked from the inside. There were open slits at the top of the walls, but they were screened and too narrow for anyone to crawl through.

Kit scratched his painted head, doing small laps along the length of the room and peeking in the cupboards. The fur on his neck tingled, for all the intuition he had gained as a street urchin, pick-pocket, stowaway, and quite a few comic books told him two things: that there was a secret passage somewhere, and Madge Hatter was up to no good, maybe even _worse _no good than he was up to.

"You can't out-sneak a sneak, lady," he muttered, his eyes narrowed and scanning about. The cold timber floor creaked under his left foot as he padded around for another lap, but not under the right, on his next step. Then he saw it, horizontal cuts in several timber planks that made a square. He had seen enough smuggling compartments in airplanes to have an idea that it was a trap door.

There was no handle or hinges to it, though the wood looked chipped between the cuts, such as that tools had been used to pry it open. Kit looked around; there were no crowbars handy, but there was a spatula. He made do. It was a long and patient effort, but at last he got his fingers in and lifted it open.

Below was hole dug about six feet straight down, a ladder propped against its side, and it descended into a tunnel, where a faint red light glowed in the dimness. Jumping into holes wasn't how Kit hoped to spend his evening, but, alas, down he went.

There were no bricks or architecture in the tunnel, it was smooth and weathered, old and natural as the mountains. In one direction, there was only blackness; the other had the red glow, which was a slow burning flare, and far, far up ahead was the glint of a second flare. Kit followed the glowing trail, and the way went on seemingly forever. By the second flare, he was certain he had traversed the length of the castle's walls. By the sixth, he started worrying. At the ninth flare, he was scared, a fear gnawing at his gut, that if the flares should burn out, he would never feel his way out of this cold and dark underworld. By the sixteenth flare, he was sure the world would never hear from him again.

But then a fresh breeze struck his nose, and up ahead the tunnel opened into the bright night. The footprints in the snow led the way from there. Though Nanuk's shoes had been chafing his heels, he was glad to have them for the moment, for he had certainly not missed how cold the snow felt on his bare feet, but he cringed at the noisy ice-crunching sounds made upon each step, even on his tip-toes.

The tracks went northwest through a pine forest, and though the sun was hidden the tracks were easy to see amidst the field of smooth, untouched snowfall. They led to yet another cave, opening like a mouth with a mustache of dripping icicles, at the foot of a tall, rising ridge. Kit went inside, his sneaky footsteps from soft snow carpet and its crunching replaced by hard stone and silence. He was only two steps in when he was startled by the discovery that _dynamite _had been rigged around the cave entrance. A wire connecting all the many sticks of TNT went down the length of the cave, from where also came light, a strange mechanical hum, and the smell of exhaust. He also heard voices, and doubled his pace inward, and that was where he found them.

The cave dropped and opened into a frosty cavern, where big gasoline-fed generators purred lively, corded to several electric lamps on tripods. Kit crept low and stayed in the shadows of the tunnel, observing. Chester the Cat was busy with the placement of the lamps, while Madge Hatter and Mr. White were unloading a crate of food they had carried from the larder.

The cavern wound far and wide to stretches unseen, with several other tunnels connecting to it. One tunnel, directly opposite of Kit, was short and rose upward like a ramp, with just a hint of the night sky glowing from above. Cluttered was the cavern, too, with things left by nature, such as giant stalagmite and large boulders, and things left by litterbugs: heaps of trash, like empty peanut butter and jelly jars, fish and chicken bones, wadded wax paper with barbecue sauce smeared on it, all of it discarded food stuff. A restaurant may as well have been above them, dumping its trash bins. Most of all, there were tin foil scraps, silverware and pewter dishware, and empty canned goods that had their labels torn off, revealing all their silvery gloss. There was also plenty of extra dynamite, and an abundance of digging tools.

"We're lucky they didn't send more guards to the bridge," said Mr. White, in his quick and squeaky voice. "Why'd _your boys _have to attack it in the first place? Could've thrown everything off. Everything!"

"They're _bored_," said Madge. "They ain't made to sit around an' wait. We had 'em rounded up an' ready to go two days ago. When I think that we coulda had this done and been in Bearmuda by now, 'if those worthless scum pirates had their act together, bah!"

Madge called out to the cavern depths in a voice sweet as a dead, wilted rose. "Bo-oys! Oh boys!"

"Troll-mother!" bellowed a deep, gravely voice, then a second just like it repeated the words, and then a third, followed by the sounds of grunting and shuffling.

_What... the... holy... _thought Kit, but not even words in his mind could muster much articulation, except for, at last: _Trolls!_

From the cavern depths came these creatures of long, shaggy white fur flowing like dresses, snorting and shuffling in with their massive knuckles dragging in the ground, gorilla-like. There were three of them, identical, massive and hulking, only their pinkish toes and long, pale blue noses stuck out from the strands of their thick hair. They gathered around Madge, affectionately.

"Did mean men come to hurt you today?" cooed Madge.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh!" answered the trolls, their big blue noses bobbing up and down when they nodded.

"What did you do to the mean ol' men?"

The trolls replied by pounding their knuckles into the ground. "We pound-pound!" they said.

_The guards_, Kit thought, with a sick feeling in his belly. Now that he thought of it, the Guard Captain had never returned from his morning outing to Coldsparrow Bridge.

"Good boys!" praised Madge. "Where'd you put 'em?"

"Troll-brothers got," said one of the creatures excitedly. "They here, now!"

The pungent stench of the trolls hit Kit like a punch in the nose, they smelled like there was nothing but filth underneath their thick hairy coats. It was still hard to tell what turned his stomach the most, the smell of the trolls, the smell of the trash, or Madge's mawkish motherly tones.

Three more trolls arrived in the cavern, each shouldering an unconscious royal guard, and lay their captives at Madge's feet. Their red and black uniforms were shredded and coats darkened with blood stains. Another troll, seventh overall, followed the others in with its brutish arms full of bent and twisted sabers and muskets broken in half. It threw all those items over its head, where they landed across the cavern in a brief metal rain.

"Shinies!" it said, giddily. The others replied, as if by some kind of troll liturgy, "Shinies! Shinies!"

The largest of the guards, Captain Randall Howl, began to stir with a meager cough and pained gasps for air. Trickles of blood ran from his brow, nose and the corners of his mouth.

"Uh-oh, we got a lively one, here, boys," said Madge. "Winky, give 'im more pound-pound."

One of the trolls came forward and _thwomped _Howl's crown with is giant knuckles, and the guard captain was still once more.

Chester the Cat had left the lights as they were now, and began stalking around the guards with his cleaver in hand. "Oh my," he said, his smile unchanging. "Such lean portions."

"Don't go gettin' yer shirt all messy," chided Madge. "You two just tie 'em up for now. Maybe the boys'll want a _snack _later. Ha!"

And so, Mr. White and Chester the Cat bound the three guards by wrists, ankles, legs and arms, and dragged them aside, against a boulder. Meanwhile, Madge unloaded the food crate: seven fat whole salmons wrapped in tin foil, and seven unlabeled tin cans. These she tossed in pairs to each troll; as she called out their names, each held out its arms to catch its dinner:

"Winky! Stinky! Pinky! Dinky! Slinky! Kinky! And Harriet!"

"Thankies, troll-mother," said the last, in a deep baritone.

_I gotta help those guys_, thought Kit. Guard Captain Howl was blinking and stirring again in his binds. He wanted to help them, and even took a moment to study a path behind the rocks and clutter that could give him cover across the cavern, but he realized even if he could get all the way over, even if Madge or the trolls did not notice him, even if he discreetly untied the knots and set Howl free... _then _what? Howl would know he wasn't the prince, and if the guards moved, the trolls would be quick pulverize them again.

One of the trolls sniffed at the air, a salmon tail getting slurped into the curtain of white hair under its nose. It turned toward Kit and sniffed more. The six others began doing the same.

"What is it?" asked Madge.

"Bear," said one, snorting. "Bear there!" another agreed, then a third and fourth: "Bear! Bear!" They all rushed toward the tunnel and the end of the cavern, heavy stomps trampling trash making the stalagmite rattle. When they got there, they found no one.


	10. A purdy painting

**Chapter 10**

**A purdy painting**

Don Karnage was woken by the start of the _Iron Vulture's_ engines, all of them at once. Though it startled him for a beat, the mechanical chorus was glorious music to his ears. He rolled out of bed and went straight to the cabin's broadside window, where he saw twilight, not a wall of snow. The only snow was that being flung far away by the airship's rotors, and finally, there was liftoff. The _Vulture _rose from the icy fjord, just a few feet above the water, and gently set back down, now free for when the time came.

Outside, the bright night was adorned with a green aura, wisps like great ghostly spirits dancing in the sky. Karnage rubbed his hands together and cackled; he wondered if Polaria was enjoying the lovely view tonight, because they had no idea what was in store for them tomorrow.

That suddenly reminded him, he was supposed to meet the boy again at midnight. He had only meant to take a short nap, but being a fearsome pirate _and _criminal mastermind was exhausting work. The ample downtime of piratical activities as of late had left for plenty of lackeys to clean and refurnish his cabin, and it had gained the semblance it had before the boy had laid it to waste with the fire extinguisher.

Hurriedly, he threw his blue coat on and was buttoning it when a timid rap was made on the door. "Boss? You there?"

For a rare instant, Karnage was happy enough not to be disgusted at Mad Dog's mewling voice, happy enough at least to open the door instead of telling him to get lost. Mad Dog smiled at him wearily, painting like he had just been running. "Oh, _hiya_, Your Excellent Capt'n-ness!"

Karnage showered them with lavish praise: "Finally, you tiresome toads made something work!"

"Yeah, that's us, makin' things work, ha ha!" Mad Dog's laugh was weak, near sad... and he was also shying away, into the shadows of the corridor. Gibber and Dumptruck were there, too, though none were brave enough to come forward. "There's... just one little thing."

"So, let's hear it, then."

"Oh, it's just one _teeny tiny _little ol' problem," assured Mad Dog, with the others nodding behind him. "It's just that dumb ol' prince, that's all."

Karnage had grabbed his cutlass and was swishing it menacingly in Mad Dog's direction. "Are you going to talk, or do I _personally _remove the _gato _on your tongue? What _about _the prince?"

Mad Dog gulped, hard. "He's gone."

Second Mate Will was walking up the hangar catwalk when he heard a terrible crashing sound. Little did he know that the sound was three bodies bouncing off the walls. He peered into the corridor to check it out, and Don Karnage came galloping his way, three other pirates dazed and staggering behind him.

"Find him! Find him!" was all the captain would shout. Will was caught right in his path, like a deer on the highway caught scared and frozen in front of a bus. He could not utter a syllable of_find who _before Karnage pounced on him in a fury, choking him on the ground by the collar of his leather jacket. His yellow eyes bulged while he snarled. "_Find him_."

In moments the entire crew was roused for the search, and it was not a delicate operation. Up and down, up and down the length of the ship they went, every corridor, every room, every catwalk, everywhere ransacked in their tracks like a tornado had been turned loose. What they did not know was that they were making things easier to hide around. This great game of hide-and-seek went on for hours. When Hacksaw looked in the berths, he should have looked behind one of the overturned cots. When Mad Dog was searching the hangar, he never saw the the little wide eyes glistening between a disheveled pile of crates. In the galley, Hal looked in the cupboards, looked in the sink, even looked down the drainpipe, but not inside one of the big pots. And when Karnage looked in his closet, he should have looked twice where a coat hung over a pair of boots. Those boots were filled.

Don Karnage's fingers were anxiously massaging his scalp and tugging his ears while he paced the bridge. Several tired pirates were with him, some of them having seen places of the airship they didn't know existed. Dumptruck was particularly pleased at finding a little choo-choo train toy, until he _choo-choo_'ed one too many times in front of the wrong pirate captain, and the train was then known as the _Nasal Express_.

"What if he gets outside?" said Will. "Too many holes in this bird. If he gets to the castle somehow, it's over!"

"He ain't out, but he _won't _get out if we're flyin'," said Ratchet. "He ain't gonna _jump _off."

"Scotty!" shouted Karnage. "What are you waiting for! Up, up! Now, now!"

Instantly the helmsman complied... not bothering to corrected him on his name... pulling levers that throttled up the engines, and the airship began to shake and roar.

"But boss," said Mad Dog, "what if he already got out?"

And just as instantly as the ship was being revved to life, Karnage hip-checked Jock clear across the bridge. "What do you think you are _doing_? We have to look outside first!"

"I _been _checkin' out the window, least every hour," said Ratchet, and he once again peered outside the bridge's side window. "He ain't gone nowh-uh-oh."

"Uh-oh? What is _uh-oh_?" demanded Karnage.

"_Uh-oh_ is, uh... well..." Nervously, Ratchet ducked his head and jerked his thumb back at the window. "We better get out there."

The starboard side of the _Iron Vulture _had pressed against the bank of the fjord, halting it from drifting. Don Karnage and posse emerged from a side hatch and stepped outside. Shunning the light like a vampire, he was startled to suddenly notice sun peering over the ridge. It was dawn already.

An undisturbed blanket of slush carpeted the rocks and grass, and from there, starting from where a broadside cannon hatch was at the airship's great purple hull, there were tracks. Bear cub tracks. _Princely _bear cub tracks. The tracks followed the bank farther than they could see, and there was still had a crisp shape to them, where the slowly melting snow had not yet had time to soften their edges.

"These weren't hear an hour ago," said Ratchet. "He's prob'ly right around the corner!"

Karnage drew his cutlass and whipped it sharply to point in the direction of the footprints. "Then why are you all still at _this _corner? Follow him you fools!"

* * *

><p>Kit was sitting against a stack of pillows on the prince's bed, his eyes heavy. He had waited up all night for the captain; he needed to talk to him, about the vault, about Madge, about the trolls... about the crown jewels they were <em>supposed <em>to run away with today. The captain had never showed up like he said he would.

_He didn't leave me here_, Kit thought, for the hundredth time. _He'll come... when it's time, he'll be here..._ Such self-assurances didn't stay him from keeping watch from the balcony until dawn, wondering if he would see the _Iron Vulture _shrinking into the horizon.

He had already shooed away the footmen knocking at the door, telling him breakfast was ready. His stomach was in knots... he did not want to play the prince today. The world, however, was not going to let him play hooky; at least, Ridley wasn't. He was the next to knock on the door.

"Your Highness, rise and shine!" said the butler cheerily. He took the liberty of letting himself in.

Kit yelped and dove under the thick gold colored bedspread. "Get out!"

"You have an appointment for a portrait, did you forget? It's all prepared. We're only missing a prince to paint."

Kit stumbled out of the bed as if to hide himself on the other side of the mattress, keeping covered in the bedspread like a golden ghost. "I changed my mind!" His imitated prince voice could not hide the wavering panic.

"You asked to have it done, now be a man of your word," said Ridley. Kit could hear him open the wardrobe and rummage through the clothes. "Come now, get dressed. You'll wear your best today. And I note that you missed breakfast again. I know you miss your nanny, but it's not well to hide yourself in―"

"Get _lost_," growled Kit, in desperation. It was not in the prince's voice.

There was a pause, then Ridley sighed his familiar sigh. "I'm leaving this outfit on your bed. Get dressed, Your Highness. You'll not get out of this appointment, I'm afraid. I'll return shortly if you're not in the throne room."

When Ridley left, Kit ran to slam the door shut, and pushed on it for a moment like doing so would seal it permanently. _Where the _heck _is the captain?_ he thought. It seemed the busybodies of the keep were not going to give him respite.

With all the eagerness of having his teeth pulled, he was applying a new coat of greasepaint when another knock came at the door. "Holy jeepers," he griped, then shouted, "Leave me alone!"

"Apologies, Your Highness!" The shaky voice belonged to the footman Leopold. "I was told to check on you. Will you be by the throne soon?"

"Yes!" spat Kit. But to his horror, the footman opened the door and entered the room. Leopold kept his eyes low, and dared not venture far from the doorway.

"Apologies again, Your Highness, but I was told to make sure you were... were..." When Leopold's eyes met Kit's through the bureau mirror, he saw the the open-jawed, shocked and horrified face of a bear cub with only a smidgen of white fur on his brow... and that the kid in the prince's pajamas was _not _the prince.

Caught red-handed with white greasepaint, Kit tried shrugging coyly. "Um... I have this skin condition..."

The footman was stuttering almost as hard as he was hyperventilating. "Bu-wha-wha... bu-wha... who-wha..."

"Easy! Shush!" hissed Kit. The fuzz on his chin was longer than the proverbial straws he was grasping at to keep the footman quiet. "Haven't you ever heard of.. of... _the secret of the crown jewels_?"

That confused Leopold to no end, but at least made him calm down. "Y-yes."

"Do you know what it is?"

The footman swallowed. "No."

"That's why you _can't tell _anyone!"

"Oh! I see," nodded Leopold, but then he clasped his face in both hands. "No, wait! I don't! I don't see! Who are―!"

The crack of the vase came from out of nowhere, shattering in a hundred pieces against the back of poor Leopold's head. Kit gasped, Leopold dropped, and Madge Hatter stood at the door instead, flanked by Mr. White and Chester the Cat.

"Ya got made, Yer Highness," smirked Madge.

"You didn't have to do that!" snapped Kit, more angry than surprised.

"Oh no? I s'pose I coulda let 'im gab all over the castle." She turned to her cohorts and said, "You heard the prince! C'mon, let's wake 'im up!"

"No!" cried Kit.

"Well," snorted Madge. "Never mind, prince had a change of heart. Just make 'im disappear." On cue, Mr. White and Chester the Cat grabbed the footman by his arms.

"Don't hurt him any more," said Kit, quietly. Madge had a chuckle over that while she checked the hallway and called it clear. Leopold was dragged out of the room.

"What do you guys want?" Kit wanted to know.

"Thought I'd find out what you thought 'bout my boys down in the cave," said Madge with a knowing wink.

Kit was taken aback by the question. "How... how'd you know I was there?"

Her eyes narrowed and her smirk deepened. "Ya just told me."

Kit muttered a curse at himself for falling into that. "So I saw. Now what are you gonna do with those guards?"

One of Madge's eyebrows rose, pushing wrinkled folds up half her forehead. "What'd _you _care? I thought you an' _Donny Boy_ wanted the crown jewels."

"Then what do _you _want?"

"I wanna _help_, ya ungrateful pig," snarled Madge. "I ain't got time to tell ya the reasons why. So ya seen I got me some trolls friends, an' they're gonna be _your _friends too." She had her thumbs hooked around the neck strap of her apron, her chest puffed proudly. "They're gonna make some noise 'round here. An' when they do, you'll have your chance."

"Really? When?"

"Oh, _you'll _know."

"But... the captain! He was suppose to... I mean, I gotta tell him!"

"Aw, don't you worry, I'll make sure he knows," said Madge. Before Kit could ask how, she left gritting her lone long fang in some scary semblance of a grin. "Smile purdy for painter."

* * *

><p>Brushing in a fresh coat of paint took a while, even if it was only from the neck up. Even more so was the time taken because it somehow seemed today to Kit that the disguise was weaker than ever, that it was sure to betray him. Paranoia, perhaps, but he was extra careful to avoid any stray smudges or missed strands.<p>

Afterward, Kit hurried and dressed himself in the clothes left out for him: trousers and a vest black with silver pinstripes, a deep purple button shirt with tiny silver snowflakes embroidered in a honeycomb-like pattern.

"Leopold!" called Ridley from the hall, before he entered the prince's room. "Leopold, lad, where _are _you? Your Highness, have you seen him?"

"No," said Kit. He was fastening the last button on his shirt as he thought about it. "I mean, yes! I had him get something for me."

"Oh? And that was what?"

_What _indeed. Kit's eyes shifted from corner to corner. The prince's room was no help in giving him an idea. "Uh.. a.. a banana! I want a banana."

"A _banana_?" The cringe on Ridley's face spoke of the uncounted possibilities where such a request could have landed the loyal but naive footman. "But there are no bananas in Polaria!"

"Oh," said Kit, with a little shrug. "He might be gone a while."

Ridley had in his hand a bow tie, made silver colored silk that shined like the real metal; this he handed to his prince. "Her Majesty wants you wear this. It's your father's. It complements your outfit quite well, don't you agree?"

Kit took it, but regarded the tie like the butler had handed him a noose to hang himself with. Apparently he was supposed to put it on himself, and he had no idea how to tie the darn thing. He gave it a try, though, perhaps it wasn't _that _hard to figure out, sliding it under his collar then twisting and twirling at the ends.

"Uh-oh, have we forgotten?" The butler had an amused twinkle behind his spectacles that made Kit want to shrink away until he disappeared. "Here, allow me."

Maybe the prince would have snapped at him in prideful arrogance, but Kit just wanted to get it over with. He let his hands down and and allowed for a bit of help. Ridley had the tie perfectly knotted in but a few seconds, but when he gave it its last tug, he sniffed at something. "Are you wearing _makeup_, Your Highness?" he asked.

Ridley would not know why the prince shrugged away from him and seemed to look so aghast, but Kit was wondering if he was about to see another vase explode over someone's head. When that did not happen, he was left to explain.

"My mother..." Kit paused like his lips had been pinched. Heaven knew the last time he uttered _those _two words. The collar on his shirt suddenly seemed to tight and hot. "Uh, for the painting... she thought..." It was the best lie he could come up with on the spot, and he hoped dearly that Ridley would not make him think it further though. Luck was on his side that time.

"Oh dear," groaned Ridley. "Well, we shan't tell your father. You look _sharp_, Your Highness. What say we go get a painting done this fine morning?"

Kit walked with the butler down the long halls and stairs of the keep, toward the throne room. Ridley was humming a happy tune that carried through the quiet halls, for he had been with the prince now for nearly ten minutes and had not been insulted, berated, or dismissed. It must have been measured progress.

Kit _tried _to keep his nose up, to look snooty as he captain coached him. The con he was playing kept falling far behind in his thoughts, under the worrisome weight that the pirates were long gone and he was left behind, all alone.

"What's the secret of the crown jewels?" he asked Ridley, out of the blue. The snootiness of his tone was weak, but Ridley mistook that as a sign of gentleness.

"Ah, well, I certainly know _of _the secret," replied Ridley. "It's a legend, since the time of King Snowpaw. But what it _is_, that's for your father to tell you some day soon, as his father did for him, and then one day you'll pass it on to your children."

Kit sighed at the non-answer. Ridley picked up on it, and expounded his explanation. "The _mystery _is where the crown jewels came from," he said. "I assume it pertains to that, in some way. You'll remember from your lessons that King Snowpaw was the first to wear the crown jewels. Snowshine Keep was not much more than a brick hovel back then... and that I remember from _my _lessons, not because I was there, Young Prince.

"Polaria was certainly in no possession of gold, or diamonds, yet there he was, with both. He took to sea and paraded himself around the world in his royal raiment, inviting other kingdoms and cities to buy their salt from our mines. You could imagine, a king in a gold crown made more of an impression than some trader or emissary. As you know, he was very successful, and now here we are."

Ridley was so kind and patient that Kit did not want to act belligerent anymore. Feeling bad, like he had for the prince at first, was never supposed to be part of this job. Then he thought about Leopold, and the guards in the troll cave. Madge may have been trying to help, but no one was supposed to get hurt.

Down the decorated ivory-colored halls, he glanced at the portraits of the kings and queens come before. Their unflinching, narrow stares were haunting. _They _knew who he really was. He sneered back at then, fending off their accusations and phantasmic finger-pointing. If he were the real prince, if there was some world where he could live as the king's son, where he would not have to be disguised to be welcome, where he could have a mother and father and not sulk away from them, where he did not have to act so _snooty _and terrible to everyone, and even repay the servants like Ridley with a bit of kindness... if there was such a fantasy that could come true, they would be _lucky _to have him as the prince, he thought.

Nanuk had made this entire charade easy by being such an insufferable brat, and now instead of feeling fortunate about that, Kit would have liked to have punched that little twerp in the nose for it. The same went for his mother and father, two self-centered and neglectful airheads in desperate need of a royal-sized swift kick. Maybe it was easy, thought Kit, to take your family for granted when you had one; he wouldn't know.

Inside the grand hall of the throne room, artist Vinny Van Whent already had his easel and palette ready and was eager to begin. King Klondike and Queen Snowflower stood waiting next to the throne, a housemaid close behind them holding a tray with a wine bottle and two half-full glasses. Snowflower, adorned in her pearls and sparkling tiara, was bursting with delight. Klondike's long face expressed not so much delight. A photographer for the _Polaria Star _also stood ready before the throne with his camera and its big flash light bulb, while the queen graced a note-taking reporter with the word about the occasion; Kit could not hear what she said, but it had something to do with _how darling_-this and _how darling_-that.

Two of the king's valets also stood by with King Klondike's royal red and white mantle on a torso-shaped mannequin. This they accosted Kit with upon the queen's command; it's length of dark red velvet was more than double Kit's height and folded over several times at his feet, and the white short-cape sewn at the collar drooped all the way down to his waist.

Though Kit stood in the prince's shoes and sat in the king's throne, his mind was elsewhere, namely on all the escape routes he had scouted the day before. The keep's great blackwood door was closed but not barred. The exits to the stairs and other wings were clear, but eight guards still stood in the same places as the night before. That was eight people too crowded.

From the display where the crown jewels rested in their luster, Queen Snowflower picked up the diamond snowflake pennant and golden scepter with as much reverence as if she had found them in a sales bin at a dime store, and insistently fussed about placing them on the prince herself.

Kit scooted back as he could, and against the sudden onslaught of fuss tried to scoot even farther as if to push himself through the back of the throne. There was no escaping the queen, however.

"Oh, darling," she cooed, while hanging the pendant around his neck and setting the scepter in his arms. "Must you wear the gloves, dear? I supposed they'll do. Look how thin you are! Are you eating? There's something different, are you doing your hair different, now?" Though Kit squirmed and shied away from all her fidgeting with his tie and prodding him into a pose, there was only so much a bear could take, especially when she seemed to notice something curious and brushed a finger over Kit's cheek. "What's this on your face?"

It was more reflex than planned, but Kit _screamed_. That made the queen scream and recoil, and in a blink the entire hall was in an uproar, with the guards taking their muskets in hand.

Kit instinctively wiped his brow, only then after realizing what a mistake that was, for he saw on his purple sleeve white paint. His face was melting with sweat. Quickly he folded his arms and kept that little spot hidden. How woefully aware he was that the entire hall was gawking at him with questioning eyes. He clenched his fingers together, lest they see his hands shaking. His next words came hard with focus on his best Nanuk sound-alike. _Snooty voice, snooty voice! _he cried inwardly. Still, he could not help but sound shaky. "Send the guards away!" he shouted. "Send everyone away!"

It worked, at least for the time. The entire hall seemed to take a collective shrug. Nanuk, they thought, was being Nanuk.

"Darling, you're terrified!" lamented Queen Snowflower. "He's terrified, Klondike. Do something!"

The king lifted his eyes toward the arched ceiling. "Terrified at what? It's a _painting_, not a hold-up."

They must have thought it quite odd when their son snorted half-sadly at that remark.

"All of you, out!" said the queen to the guards. "You're making him nervous!" Though the king uttered a protest, the queen was having none of it, and the guards slowly cleared.

"You too!" snapped Kit.

"Oh, of course, my handsome," smiled the queen. "We'll just watch a bit."

"Must we," sighed Klondike. "We have our Starrywood holiday to talk about, love."

"We'll talk here," the queen said. She picked up the golden crown and was about to place it atop Kit's head when the king intervened.

"Ah ah!" Klondike swiped the crown out of her dainty fingers. "I told you, _no_," he said. Though the queen pouted, his tone was adamant and would suffer no negotiations. To Kit, he gently handed the crown. "Sorry, son. You'll wear it one day soon enough, but it's the _king _who wears the crown. You may _hold _it for now."

So Kit did, the crown in one arm and the scepter in the other. The royals took their wine glasses and retreated arm-in-arm to the far end of the hall.

"Did his ears get bigger?" asked the king.

"He's growing so quick," squealed the queen. "Klondike, do you think we'll meet Lark Gable in Starrywood? Why _wouldn't _he come see us?"

Meanwhile, Vinny Van Whent's black beret and big round spectacles peered at the throne from behind his easel, mixing up colors of reds and purples with paintbrush and palette in hand. "Smi-ile, Your Highness!" he sang.

"Go kiss a spinning propeller," muttered his adamantly un-smiling highness.

The shafts of pale sunlight pouring through the hall's great snowflake-shaped window made the diamonds on the crown, scepter, and pendant sparkle. Kit caressed the facets of the crown's gems with his thumb, and the smoothness of the shiny gold. Though the white gloves concealing his hands numbed the feeling, his fingers still quivered at the touch of wealth, just knowing what they were and that they were in his very hands, the far cry they were from the wallets and trivial amounts of money he had pickpocketed to scrape by in times past.

With a dismal look he regarded the keep's big front doors, where the king and queen stood nearby, and the lack of chaos heard from outside. No hollering, no cries of pirate sightings. No blasting. No Don Karnage. The day was still young, and he would be sitting there for most of it through, but how vexing it was to think of sitting there for hours without knowing if the captain would even show up or not.

As moments past, Van Whent took a charcoal piece and began sketching an underdrawing of the prince's pose, resigned that he was not going to get anything more pleasant from the prince than a sour and brooding expression. This time, it was no haughty act on Kit's behalf.

_He can't just leave me here_, thought Kit. _He promised! I'll show him! I'll keep it all for myself! I'll be rich!_

But, as he really put that thought to mind, there was just left a question of what stung worse, getting left behind in the middle of frozen nowhere, or realizing that he had no idea how he could sneak out of the castle by himself ― let alone get out of Polaria ― whilst smuggling the crown jewels. The pockets of Nanuk's trousers were, to say the least, too small.

Adding to his woe was the appearance of Madge Hatter, who he spied in the far corner of the hall, with a pail and mop. Her promise to "help" rang in his ears loud and clear, and he anxiously watched her, wondering if she was about to help _now_, and what the heck would he do if she did... but she disappeared into the wings, pushing her mop along.

"Where _are _you," Kit whispered sadly, anxiously, staring at the sliver of barely blue sky through the front window.

"Your Majesty!" a guard came hurrying into the throne room from the east wing. "The governess, she's escaped!" When the king demanded answers, the guard explained: "Best we can tell, she grabbed the jailer from behind the bars while he was serving breakfast, grabbed him and gave him a good pull against the bars. When we found him, he was still seeing stars. His keys were missing, and she was gone!"

"Uh-oh," muttered Kit.

Queen Snowflower gasped. "Who's watching my jewelry?"

"Half the castle, dear," said Klondike, deadpan. To the guard he said, "Well, find her. It's not like she'll be hiding in a basket... unless it's a _big _basket. The poor woman's _lost _it, I tell you."

"Your Majesty!" The next cry came from all the way outside. With loud creaks and groans, the blackwood doors of the keep parted open. A guard sergeant came running inside. "The prince! Do you have Prince Nanuk?"

"He's right here," bellowed the king. "What's this about? It better be important."

"Thank the heavens," breathed the guard. "Your Majesty, forgive me, but we found this note! It's a ransom, it says they have the prince! We found it, in the breast pocket of the footman, Leopold! We found him out cold, we did."

"Why is everyone getting _knock out _today?" King Klondike snatched the note from the guard and read it through, and finished with a confused sneer at the signed name. "Don... Dan... Kar... Cam... Cabbage? Who?"

Kit leaned forward from the throne; his ears perked. "Karnage?"

"_Who _is Karnage?" asked the king, to anyone.

"But Nanuk is right _here_," said the queen. "Who would play such a prank? I'd have his neck stretched!"

Ridley moved quickly toward the guard, with a speed unbecoming his age. "Goodness! What of Leopold, the poor lad?"

"We've taken him to the nurses, Mr. Ridley," panted the guard. "He took a blow to the head. All he can do is say, 'the prince! Get the prince!' Over and over, like a skipping record."

Kit's lips tightened, as well did his grip on the crown and scepter. The keep's door was open, and eagerly he watched to see if the _Iron Vulture _would come swooping down from the sky, and he could make a run for it. But so many questions poked at his brain like a fire iron rekindling a fireplace. How did Karnage get the note on Leopold's pocket? Why would he even send a note? Where did he find Leopold? Was Madge in on it? Why was no one _telling him anything_?

Then another guard came running in. "Your Majesty! We found Captain Howl!"

Klondike turned to him, exasperated. "Don't tell me. You found him unconscious."

"How... how did you know?" asked the guard.

"Lucky guess!" roared the king.

"It's worse than that, Your Majesty," said the guard. "There are _pirates _about!" The guard had no time to catch his breath while he lay out the report: "We found Captain Howl and the others outside the village. They've been beaten within an inch of their lives. There was a note warning about pirates in the Frostwater Fjord. We looked, and there _are_! They're still there, them an their flying ship!"

"They're still here," brightened Kit. But then he frowned. "They're still _there_."

That was when Madge Hatter made her move. Throughout the sudden confusion, she had stole herself closer and closer to the throne. Kit never even saw her coming, but everyone heard her blood-curdling scream that sent guards running back into the hall.

"That's not the prince!" she cried. "Look!" She ambushed Kit with her mopping pail, pouring the dirty water all over his head in one big splash, then, with a rag, she scrubbed so fiercely at Kit's face that it was just a few seconds before the white paint gave way to the real brown fuzz underneath, and suddenly a stranger, wet and shivering, was sitting in King Klondike's throne.

Queen Snowflower squealed and fainted, falling toward Klondike, who did not catch her. The floor did. Guards fell in and cocked their muskets, though none quite raised their gunsights to the throne just yet; they waited, as if for an explanation, for some shadow of a doubt. The blackwood doors were shut again. Ridley blinked and squinted, wiped his spectacles quickly on his sleeve, and squinted some more. "Oh, dear," he muttered.

Numbly, Klondike waddled halfway to the throne. His eyes were locked on Kit's, and the truth they shared in their gaze was that they were both guilty. Only one, however, was remorseful. "It can't be," mumbled the king. "I thought there was something _different _of late, but... for how long...?" His contemplation was not long to last. Sudden as thunder, his teeth gritted in such a fearsome wrath, one likely to imply he would _devour _this impostor himself. His finger pointed at the throne, the entire kingdom could have heard his voice: "Seize him!"

The captain had told Kit from the beginning to wait for the right time, and sure enough, the time had come to _run_ like hell. He hurdled over the throne and booked it, crown and scepter in hand, and kingly mantle flowing long and flapping behind him like a red river tied to his collar. Up the western stairs he went, the guards giving chase and popping off ill-aimed shots with their muskets.

"I want him alive, to answer for this," shouted the king. "I want to know where my son is!"

Kit tipped a glance back toward the hall, and more castle guards in their red coats were seemingly coming out of nowhere, like lines of ants pouring out from holes in the grounds. Startled maids and butlers gasped and jumped out of his way while he rounded a corner into a service hallway. The king's booming voice could still be heard from there.

"Lock the keep down, he'll get nowhere," ordered Klondike. "Summon the militia! Send them after this pirate ship!"


	11. The running of the bears

**Chapter 11**

**The running of the bears**

Prince Nanuk tread mud and snow, running downstream the length of the fjord's melting bank. His feet plunged where the ground was soft and wet, and sometimes he had to pluck his foot out to get going again. Having no affinity for running, he made lousy time and had to stop after short bursts, mouth dry, lungs stinging, and legs aching. Somewhere he lost a shoe. Now and again he tripped over a tangle of grass, or lost his balance where the bank sloped steeply and stumbled into the ice-cold water.

When he finally found a way outside the pirate ship through a broadside hatch, the dawn was just breaking, and it seemed now like he had been running forever, but not gone very far. Even now, a glance back and he saw the tail of the _Iron Vulture _rising above the winding slopes of the bank. When he first laid eyes of that hideous purple and black metal beast in the fjord, the fact that pirates were inside of it could not have given him more motivation to run.

And run he did. And stumble, fall, curse, and cry out for help. He would sit and brood, pant and shiver, and think about home. Home, eastward from the fjord, he knew, for he recognized where he was, and remembered that once he reached the outlet to the sea, it was a right turn toward Snowshine Harbor. He remembered that a steamship could traverse the length of the fjord in about one hour; his cold and throbbing feet, however, were no roaring steamship engine.

When he thought about home, he missed his room, his meals and his nanny, and even that nosy old butler a little. He would have even liked to hear his father's dumb jokes and his mother's annoying cooing, but they were probably already away on another vacation. The ugly wolf pirate was right, he knew, they didn't know he was gone. It made him sick, sad, and furious, but what he really thought about was that _usurper _he saw in his garden before the pirates stuffed him in the bag, and what he would like to do to him, like wrecking his face until there was a damn good certainty they'd never look alike again.

While he caught his breath and made ready for the next dash, he looked behind and his eyes followed the line of his footprints like a flame burns a fuse. The tell-tale tracks wound along the curves of the bank, and at the end, as far as he could see, emerged dark figures. Then he heard the echoes of that ugly wolf barking orders and mangling the English language all at once.

Could they see him?

There was a flash from a musket muzzle, a bang that he heard a second later, and a patch of snow on the ridge above him exploded.

Yes, they could see him.

* * *

><p>The royal mantle was the first to go; it was just a big red flag that helped the guards see him. The shoes were next, he kicked them off and did one-footed hops while peeling off the socks; Kit could hardly understand why anyone wore the darn things, anyway. The diamond pendant had also fallen off somewhere, too, but the crown and scepter he held onto tightly. Once he had rounded enough corners to lose the chasing guards, Kit slipped into the library and to the nearest furnace vent, pulling the grate free and drawing it closed again once he was inside. Two guards stormed into the library afterward, did a quick sweep, then left to search the next room. The uproar of the entire keep carried through the furnace ducts, the sum of all the panic and searching and shouting so heavy that it sounded like <em>everyone <em>was next to him.

The long list of names Kit muttered at Madge Hatter were those that would make polite company cover their ears. He scooted and crawled further though the pitch black ducts, using the dim lights from other grates as a guide, and it sullenly occurred to him, now that the time had come, that he did not know his way around as well as he had hoped.

He heard Ridley, from somewhere, speaking to others: "His Majesty has raised the village militia to march with the Guard. They're to rout the pirate ship and save Prince Nanuk," he said, with haste. "I'm going to fetch my gun."

Kit crawled on in the darkness, minding the crown and scepter and the noise they made when they scraped against the side of the ducts. Now he heard horns blaring and the faint clamor of a very large crowd, and the keep seemed to noticeably quiet, though it was far from silent. Most of the guards were vacating to join the pirate hunt.

It wasn't long until he had to admit that he was lost. When he came to a room that was quiet, he dared to push the grate open and step outside to get his bearings.

He was in the infirmary of the northwest guard tower, where Leopold, Randall Howl and two other guards who were captured by Madge's beasts lie in cots, sedated. Howl had a bandage wrapped around his head, blotted red over his brow, but the end bandage went from his head all the way to the floor, where the roll had been dropped and left there... the nurses had fled, apparently quite suddenly and recently.

From the window, he heard several horns blowing. When he looked outside, he saw guards pouring from the keep and exiting across the bailey, and beyond the portcullis of the castle wall he saw a mass of villagers gathering to the alarm of a blaring horns, with muskets and rifles. Then, a _scream _came from the hall outside the room, a beastly snarl, a crashing noise, and a gunshot. Confused and panicked, Kit slid under a cot, and saw nurses running past the door, and a guard _flying_, having just been pitched across the hall like a baseball. Then he realized, that last gunshot was not for him. What it _was _for was stomping his way.

He made for a crawl back toward the furnace duct, but once he left the cover of the cot, the frost troll, hulking and lumbering nose-first as it sniff the air before it, stopped at the open door. Its big, blue nose turned toward Kit with flaring nostrils, and though its eyes were well hidden behind the thick veil of its long, white hair, it saw something it liked.

"Shinies!" it gasped.

Kit could not crawl nearly fast enough to escape the reach of the creature's long arms; it snatched him by the ankle, and lifted him high while admiring the crown and scepter in his hands. Kit squirmed and yelped, but the troll's grip was iron-like. It chucked while it carried the boy nonchalantly through the hall, seemingly amused by the way this funny little toy jiggled and flailed, and the way the shinies sparkle while he was doing it. "Good shinies," it said, and made a grab for the crown.

"No!" cried Kit. He moved his arms like two propellers in every which way, playing a desperate game of keep-away.

"Gimme," growled the troll, its breath cold and stinking like rotten fish.

What Kit gave him was a _whollop _to the nose with the scepter. The troll wailed in pain and dropped him on his head, and Kit rolled to his feet and ran down the hall, around the corner. He went into the first door he came across, and slammed it behind him. It was a drawing room, with a sofa, radio, and a table set with a tea pot, cups, and saucers.

Staggering, he put the crown and scepter on the table, and felt and winced at the raw bump that was already swelling atop his head.

"Well well," said the nanny, straightening herself from where she was hiding behind a sofa. "Yer mine now, boy-o!"

"Yikes!" screamed Kit, promptly swiping the crown and scepter back in hand. "Stay away!"

As it was, she was not inclined to follow directions. Instead, she kicked the sofa out of her way, and though Kit tried to dance around the table to keep his distance, with one hand she pushed the table clear to the corner, and the other hand went to smacking.

"Lady, don't―ow!" The first strike was right above his ear, sending him rocking on his heels. "Wait! Stop!" The second got him upside the back of his head while he was flinching. "Ow! Hey! Don't make me―!" The third was straight on the cheek, and it knocked the words right out of his mouth. Kit fell back against the wall and slid to his seat of his princely trousers. To his eyes, the room was spinning and there were two or three blurry attacking nannies surrounding him. He raised the scepter at one of them. "Don't make me use this!" he warned, cross-eyed.

"Oh _really_?" said the nanny, impressed as much as if he were threatening her with a cotton swap. She grabbed his wrist and had him disarmed in a blink. Now _she wielded_ the scepter, and by the way she was effortlessly twirling it in front of his face, it was likely a bit more dangerous in her hands.

"I'll stripe yer flanks like a zebra, yeh lil'git," she said. "Tell me where's Nanuk!"

"Aw, go soak your big head!" said Kit, rubbing where his face stung. But when she hoisted the scepter over her head, he was suddenly inclined to mind his p's and q's. "I mean, _yes ma'am_! He's locked up on a flying pirate ship and he'll be back soon I promise!"

"Pirate?" she gasped. "I thought it was the maid... but a _pirate, _are yeh?"

"Well... I'm just a _small _pirate." While she regarded him bemusedly for a moment, Kit smiled coyly at her, hoping it would win him something.

It didn't, unless a thrashing counted as a prize.

"Meh, I think I'll stripe yeh, anyway," shrugged the nanny. "_Then _we'll talk."

Just then, two trolls burst through the door, sending splinters flying. "Shinies!" they whined. A storm erupted in the room, one of breaking and flying furniture as the nanny fended them off, and somehow amidst the mayhem, the the wailing and yelling (from the trolls), Kit slowly emerged from the violence, crawling into the hallway, with the crown.

Dazedly, he just started moving, not knowing, not caring where he was going anymore, just as long as he was going. The two trolls came whimpering and running out of drawing room, caught a glimpse of him and the crown, and decided to chase _him _instead. Three more trolls came barging behind them, tearing the castle decor apart as they did, coming to the call of "Shinies!"

Kit went down a flight of stairs, then another one, going wherever he didn't see a guard, a troll, or a nanny. Before he realized where he was, he went down another stair and was at a dead end, but not alone.

The castle vault was wide open, and the room was smokey from the dynamite that blasted it so. The guards on watch were unconscious on the floor, and standing over them were two more trolls. Madge Hatter, Mr. White, and Chester the cat were inside the vault, filling big burlap sacks with money, while the trolls shuffled about, bored... that is, until they saw Kit.

"Shiny," the troll on the left marveled, at the crown.

"Ahh!" the other gasped.

Kit stepped back, but there came the other five trolls down the stairs, in a stomping clamor. He was trapped, and the next thing he knew, all seven of the beasts were around him, grunting and growling and stinking.

"Shinies!" the trolls said together, their attention bent the crown in Kit's hands, and their cry was like a referee had blown a whistle, and the game was in play with the clock running down: the defense surrounded the screaming crown-carrier, who jinked downfield with the crown firmly tucked in both arms, dodging one tackle, two tackles, _thee _tackles, big troll bodies were charging, bouncing, and flying everywhere. The crowd _roared _(Madge, telling them to stop), but was suddenly silenced by a brutal, bone-jarring tackle (one of the trolls who missed Kit bounced into Madge and her two cohorts instead). Money rained across the field in a green blizzard, and play continued despite the odd weather. The crown-carrier saw his break for the end-zone, rolled under a lunging troll, jumped over another, and _touchdo_― no! He was flattened by the nanny just before he made it to the stairs. Then the trolls jumped on, one through seven, making a massive dog pile that altogether smelled just as bad as if it came out of a real dog.

It was such a chaotic stack of yelling and squishing that everyone seemed to forget the reason for it, and Kit squeezed out the bottom while the rest fought over their positions in the pile. Kit made a run for the stairs, but suddenly realized he was missing one Polarian crown. Much as he would have rather slather himself up with honey and rolled around an ant hill, he came back and knelt down next to them, trying to spy a sliver of gold. The trolls didn't seem to know he was there, and the nanny, her muffled curses furious, was buried under them all.

Then one troll emerged with the crown in hand, and slid away from the rest, holding the golden headpiece gingerly in its big, thick fingers. From somewhere behind the wall of long fur it called a face, its eyes were ogling. "Ooh, the shiny," it gasped.

"Crud," Kit muttered anxiously. Then he asked it, "Hey, you wanna see a magic trick?"

"Magic trick?" The long white hair parted around the troll's nose jiggled when it spoke.

"Look! Now you see it..." Kit swiped the crown out of the creature's hand and hid it behind his back. "...now you don't!" Then he bolted up the stairs like rockets were tied to his heels.

"That _good_ magic trick," gasped the troll.

"Good, yeah," agreed its troll-brothers, nodding their blue noses.

Two trolls were rocked off their feet when the nanny jumped to hers, letting out a mighty roar. She hoisted her dress and ran after the impostor prince, while the seven trolls scratched their heads. They had to think about it for a moment, that something was amiss.

"Where shiny go?" one asked.

"Magic runt make it no more."

"That mean trick," another said. "Magic runt _mean_. Take our shiny."

"We find magic runt and give pound-pound?"

At that, they all growled and filed out of the vault room, leaving their beloved troll-mother behind.

"Wait!" croaked Madge Hatter, blinking away the stars that were still floating before her eyes. With great haste, she, Chester and Cat and Mr. White were desperately grabbing at the scattered cash to refill their bags. "You're s'pose to cover us! Git back here!"

Upstairs, the halls of the keep were in shambles, paintings, vases, and other decor broken and scattered. Unconscious guards were strewn over the floors, and Kit leapt over them one after another like some grisly version of hopscotch. Still standing in the hall was a very heavy marble bust of King Klondike's image; this Kit took cover behind, peering back to see if he still had pursuers. For the moment, it was clear.

But Kit screamed when there was a loud _bang _and King Klondike's sculpted face suddenly exploded in a hundred royal pieces, leaving a big hollow scoop-mark from ear to marble ear. Up ahead, the butler Ridley groaned, on his back, and something on him was _smoking_. Slowly he rose, and he had belts of fist-sized brass bullets strung across his chest, and an oversized shotgun with a barrel big enough to pass as a cannon. He squinted at Kit through his spectacles. "Oh, dear," he said. "I missed." Then he aimed for another shot. "Move more to the middle, won't you? Splattered brain is just _dreadful _to scrape off the walls."

"Don't shoot!" pleaded Kit, on his knees, and he dropped the crown and reached for the ceiling. "Please mister! Mr. Ridley!"

"Now let's not make this personal with names, whomever you are," said the butler. He was approaching steadily, and in a beat had the muzzle of the shotgun over Kit's nose.

"POW!"

While Kit's life flashed before his eyes, the last vision he saw was Don Karnage telling him to bring back cookies and milk... before he bumped the back of his head on the floor, and that's how he realized it was still attached to his shoulders, brain and all.

Ridley laughed so hard he was wheezing and choking on his own mirth. "_Pow_," he chuckled, wiping tears from under his spectacles. Kit exhaled and clenched his hands over his heart, trying to keep it from jumping out and running away.

"Ah, enough fun," said Ridley, donning a serious face with the gun again aimed to kill. "Now, you'll surrender immediately to His Majesty. For your sake, I hope the prince is unharmed."

Kit slowly stood up, his head hung low. Now more than ever, it would have been a great time to hear Don Karnage come blasting down the door like he said he would, but that was a dismal hope. But then, it was like pirate angels had heard a pirate prayer, there was a clamor, and over Kit's shoulder, Ridley saw and gasped at the incoming freight train of trolls galloping from around the corner, crying out for their _shiny_.

The butler raised his shotgun and fired, but all that came from the gun was a _click_. "Oh dear," he muttered, and went to fish out another bullet from the belts on his chest. Kit saw his chance, scooped up the crown and ran past him. Ridley's fingers fumbled at reloading his weapon, and before he knew it, he was being thrashed around by the troll juggernaut like a paper bag caught in a busy freeway.

After the last troll, he sat up and cupped his head groggily, and the nanny came running after next, her disheveled as he was, having been trampled and past up by the trolls just the same. "Get up, Mr. Ridley!" she said, but not stopping to help. "He'll tell us where Nanuk is, by gum he will!"

Next came Madge Hatter and her two, each with a nearly empty burlap sack. "Stop, you idiots!" she cried to her trolls. "Come back! Get these guards off us! Get the guards!" They ran past Ridley as well, and next came a handful of castle guards, ordering the maid and cooks to halt in the name of the king.

Kit led the chaotic train speeding through Snowshine Keep, behind him, respectively, seven angry trolls, the nanny, Madge, Chester, and Mr. White, castle guards, and Ridley, trying to keep up. This train was derailed from the start, and woe to anyone who got in the way. Kit had no plan, just run and keep running until he found a way out. Coming full circle, he was suddenly back in the throne room, where what was left of the guards formed a wall around the king and queen, and they had their muskets ready for the impostor.

Kit slid to a stop and held the crown to his chest like it could be a bullet-proof shield. But when he glanced down, it seemed more like a bullseye, so he whisked it behind his back and flashed a wide, nervous smile. They wouldn't shoot someone who was smiling, right?

"Ooh, let me _at _that little beast," said Snowflower, with one of the guards restraining her.

"Give us back our son!" shouted Klondike, rolling up his royal sleeves. His eyes narrowed at what Kit had in his hand. "And my crown!"

_Tromp tromp tromp_ came Kit's motley entourage, and for an instant the guards around the king and queen seemed to forget about the impostor, and raised their weapons to the burly beasts behind him, but the trolls paid them no heed.

Like fast-spinning tires peeling hot under a braked car, Kit's feet slid against the polished marble floor while his legs ran in a blurry speed, and finally he took off, fast as a stone set loose from a slingshot, toward the dining room. The trolls galloped after him, Madge and cohorts after them, the nanny and guards after her, and Ridley paused to catch a breath while reloading his shotgun, then made a curt bow before his royal lieges before rejoining the chase.

"All of you, seize that slippery devil!" bellowed Klondike, and he and Snowflower, along with the rest of the guards joined the pursuit.

Through the dining room, down a stairs and into the kitchen, Kit now had his escape route in mind. Into the larder he ran, which was troll-ransacked as bad as any part of the keep, and the secret hatch was already open. The crashing and stomping noises from the kitchen were headed at him an incoming tidal wave. He slid down into the underground tunnel, but not before taking a second to pull the hatch door closed. As soon as his feet touched the rocky ground, the stomps were right over his head.

In the darkness, red burning flares once again lit the way. He heard thumping and shouting, mass chaos above him, no doubt the entire cavalcade at his heels had finally come to an end and turned on itself. It was the best thing he had heard all day. Now that he had slowed down a bit, he hunched over and exhaled deeply, feeling tiredness wash over him.

"Aw, boy," he huffed. Then he laughed a little, looking at the crown in the red light. "Wait'll the captain sees _this_. I did it! I'm home free!"

That sentiment was destroyed when the hatch door exploded to pieces under an angry troll fist.

"Cripes!" yelped Kit, and he picked up full sprint. "_Not _free! _Not _free!"

* * *

><p>Don Karnage was a wolf who never blew a house down (it was, however, perpetually on his to-do list), but he <em>huffed <em>and _puffed _in exasperated fashion chasing after Prince Nanuk. Finally, after a marathon run down the bank of the fjord, he was just yards away from the royal pain-in-the-tail's heels. He could hear his little pitiful cries and wheezes. So close, he gathered all the speed his legs would give, his hands and claws grasping at the air between him and his prey. Bits of slush the prince kicked up in his wake were sprinkling him in the face. He _had _him...

But the prince cut a sharp right, up a shallow incline that wound to the top of the ridge, and gained a few extra feet. Karnage cursed at him and followed the same, his knees feeling a bit more rickety than he would like to admit. Then he heard the prince yelp, and when he reached the top, Nanuk was nowhere to be seen... just a big hole in the ground that Karnage barely slid to a stop before.

The wolf doubled over and fell on his knees, panting heavily. There was something to be relished about the fear of the chased―he could practically _taste _it―but really, there was a reason he stocked in attack planes and not running shoes. The other pirates came staggering around shortly thereafter, so winded they were ready to crawl.

"Boss, look," panted Mad Dog, pointing to where the fjord met the open sea. There, beached on the rocky shore, was an old, rust-colored seaplane, riddled with dents and covered with metal patches where bullet holes had once turned its fuselage into Swiss cheese. It was backed tail-first into the shore, with its rear cargo hatch ajar, though no one seemed to be in or around it.

Don Karnage had enough criminal experience to know when to spot a getaway plane. Something told him he already knew who it was for. The plane even _looked _like her, in the pretty-as-a-possum's-patootie sense. He smelled a double-cross; something was fishy and it wasn't the ― actually, it _was _the the hole in the ground. It stank worse than Dumptruck's armpits.

"I _know _where you are," called Don Karnage. "You think playing the gopher will hide you from_me_?" Then he noticed, it wasn't very dark in there, and it sounded like there were motors running. The bottom was just a short way down, and slanted into a tunnel. Drawing his cutlass in one hand and pinching is nose with the other, Karnage stepped downward and into the tunnel, his lackeys following.

"What a mess," cringed Ratchet, sniffing and gagging at the air. There was an abundance of trash in the cavern, much of it metallic and shiny in some way. But this was no random landfill, it was more like a lair, and it was presently in use. There were lamps wired to generators that were powered on and burning fuel. On the floor, they saw broken muskets, the same type used by the castle guards, and there was also:

"Dynamite!" cried Hacksaw giddily, jumping up and down, and pointing at two wooden crates of TNT sticks. "Jackpot! Jackp-_yeow_!" He jumped up and down for a different reason when Karnage cracked him on the kneecap with the flat of his cutlass and shushed him. In the middle of the cavern, there was a detonator, in the style of a plunger box; it had about half a dozen long wires laid through the tunnel opposite of them, which exited into a pine forest. The mouth of the tunnel had dynamite fixed around it, more than enough to collapse it for good.

"She thinks she is going to take _my _crown jewels," grumbled Karnage, to himself. "You!" he said, pointed at Hacksaw, who was whimpering and rubbing his knee. "You saw that plane out there?"

"Uh-huh," nodded Hacksaw.

Karnage's teeth gritted viciously. "Make it go... _kablooey_. Very, _very_ kablooey!"

"Really?" squealed Hacksaw. "Oh boy! Oh boy oh boy!" He took off so quickly that he was treading on all fours up and out the back tunnel from which they came, muttering, "Blow it up, blow it up! Gonna blow it up!"

Then Karnage called out while scanning the clutter of the cavern, "Don't think I have forgotten _you_, Your Wretched Highness. Come out now and maybe, _maybe_, I won't tie you to a fishing pole and...!"

Hacksaw distracted him when he came stumbling back down into the cavern, and elbowed his way through the group of pirates. "Gotta blow it up! Blow it up!" Though he had a sufficient amount of explosives already on his person, he came back to grab the top crate of dynamite. With that in his arms, he raced out and was gone again to see to his mission.

"As I was _saying_," continued Karnage, snarling in Hacksaw's direction, "Show yourself, before I tie you to a fishing pole and use you as...!"

Almost as quick as he left, down came Hacksaw again, with the crate of dynamite. "Gonna blow it up!_Ka-pow_, yeah yeah!" He pushed his way though the pirates, set the crate down on top of the second, and lifted them both.

"Stop interrupting me when I am thinking of terrible things to do!" snapped Karnage. "You are _ruining _my favorite part!"

Hacksaw set the crates down and stood silently while folding his jittery fingers together and twiddled his shaky thumbs. "S-sorry!"

"Where was I," muttered Karnage, rubbing his brow. "Come out now, tie him to a fishing pole, ah!" He cleared his thoat and shouted, "And we will see how hungry the sharks are!"

The pirates glanced at each other and shrugged. By then the threat was a bit anticlimactic.

"And I will tie one of those red and white fishy _floatie thingies_ to you!" hollered Karnage.

"Can I go now?" asked Hacksaw eagerly. "Can I? Huh?" Don Karnage groaned and waved him away. So excited was Hacksaw that he tossed the two crates straight up and tried to catch them, like they were a beach ball; too bad they didn't land like a beach ball. They crashed on his face, and red sticks of TNT went scattering everywhere.

"The rest of you," sighed Karnage, "spread out and start looking for that princely pouty-puss."

Muttering sad apologies, Hacksaw went looking for all the lost, lonely TNT sticks that were just separated from their family, picking them up one at a time and cradling them. He went behind a bolder, sniffing the ground like a bloodhound, where he was sure he saw some of them fall. He picked up a big rock, looked for a dynamite stick under it, and tossed it away. Next he picked up an old discarded toaster, and again found no red sticks. Then, he picked up Prince Nanuk and held him over his head... nope, no lost dynamite under him, either. Disappointed, he set the prince down and... why was everyone _looking _at him like that?

A brow twitched over Karnage's eye. Absently his hand went seeking about, found Dumptruck's snout, and slapped him twice in the jowls, forehand and backhand.

"Ow!" yelped Dumptruck, recoiling. "What was _dat _for?" he whined.

"_You _were the one in smacking range!" barked Karnage. "Now _pounce that prince_!"

But, all the pirates charging at once made for an instant pirate traffic jam, and they only tripped over themselves. Prince Nanuk saw his break and ran out through longer tunnel, betwixt the dynamite fixtures and to where daylight beckoned from beyond the cave's mouth.

The moment he was outside, he saw someone running through the trees, toward the cave, toward him. Nanuk ran toward him as well, shouting for help. They came closer, but once they were yards away, the prince's legs wobbled to a halt, for he recognized who it was. It was the _impostor_, and he was wearing _his _clothes, and holding his father's crown.

Kit slid to a stop, his disbelieving eyes wide. "Wha'? How'd _you _get here?"

Shouting and curses came from the trees behind Nanuk. Much more of the same came from behind Kit. Prince and pauper alike were caught between two ferocious avalanches about to crash head-on.

Kit glanced behind him and gulped. He thought he heard the captain's voice, and went to run past the prince, but Nanuk sidestepped and blocked his way.

"_You're _not getting away!" said the prince, assuming a low stance like he was going make a tackle.

"Don't make me knock you down, kid," warned Kit, giving him a hard look. But he was caught unprepared when, without further ado, Nanuk rolled his princely fingers into two furious fists, charged with a shrill battle-cry, and buried his knuckles into Kit's eye with a right cross. The winner of the bout: Prince Nanuk, by knockout.

The moments to come were a broken, hazy blur to Kit. His senses fading in and out of the darkness, he heard the clamor and gunfire of the battle, seemingly muffled to his groggy ears but right over his head. He tasted dirt and snow on his lips. At times, between dark and silent pauses, when he opened his eyes, he saw different things: the treetops spinning like a merry-go-round, as was the entire world; Chester the Cat being swatted into a tree by an errant troll punch; Queen Snowflower in her pretty silk dress and tiara jumping on the back of Madge Hatter and hammering her noggin with dainty fists; the nanny swinging a troll over her shoulders; the pirates taking cover behind the trees and exchanging gunfire with the guards.

When he came to, the pirates and the trolls had fallen in on the same side of the forest, and a sea of people came marching through the trees from the village; it was the Polarian militia, half the village coming armed with muskets and cannons. As the sounds of the chaos became clearer, he heard Don Karnage call for a retreat in the face of overwhelming numbers. Kit snapped out of his daze and sat up quickly. Bullets from both sides bit into tree bark and rained splinters on his head. And he realized the feeling of cold, precious metal at his fingertips. He still had the crown, and he clutched onto it tightly while ducked low and ran toward the captain's voice.

Dodging an increasing barrage of bullets, the pirates and trolls limped hurriedly back into the cave, where Hacksaw was waiting to do what he was put on the green earth to do, his hands wrapped around the plunger of the TNT detonator.

"Blast it!" yelled Karnage.

The explosion rattled the entire cavern, and flooded it with an ocean of thick dust. Everyone (and everything) coughed and crawled out of the opposite tunnel, and one by one sprawled out atop the snowy ridge overlooking the fjord.

"Somet'ing don't feel der quite right," said Dumptruck, flat and squirming on his back, and he started giggling. "Ooh, that tickles!" Suddenly something bit him. "_Yeowch_!" He jumped like he had been sitting on a giant coil spring, and Mad Dog miserably crawled out of where his counterpart's backside made a big dent in the snow.

Will sat up woozily and and took a quick head (or foot, or tail) count. "Looks like we got everyone." He was only counting pirates, but it would turn out that only Chester the Cat and Mr. White did not escape capture on the other side of the cavern.

A moan made Don Karnage look up from the snow mound he was resting on, and he found familiar toes peeking over the top. "Boy? Where did _you _come from?"

"The stork brought me," grumbled Kit.

"Was it happening to bring any _jewels_ with―what the _holy frijoles _are _these _freaks?" With the sudden respite of not being shot at, Karnage and the pirates almost forgot about the seven trolls. But the hairy creatures were still, beaten and tattered, and had no fight left in them. Madge Hatter, however, emerged from their number, covered in soot and dust from the cavern blast, and she had _plenty _of fight left in her.

"Yer all a bunch of morons!" she seethed, ripping apart the empty, bullet-riddled burlap sack that was supposed to be loaded with money by now. "_You_!" She had pointed at Karnage. "_You _were s'posed to attack the king's ship where I told ya! It was easy as a flippin' script! They ship calls for help, the guards run out of the castle to save their stupid king, an' we go for the vault. A plan five frickin' years in the makin', ruined 'cause you're a flippin' idiot!

"And you!" She turned on the trolls next. "Ya were s'posed to deal with what was left. Just a few puny guards was all it was! Yer each three hundred pounds of stinkin' hairy muscle and brains the size of peas, what else are ya good for? Now get off yer duffs, and tear these pirates to pieces!"

While the pirates recoiled and felt for their pistols and blades, the trolls scarcely stirred. "We too tired," one of the creatures moaned.

Another said, rubbing its nose, "Troll-mother said we get shinies. We get no shinies. Just hurties."

"Troll-mother lied," said a third.

Madge screamed and stamped her feet. "Ya damn fools, if you were any stupider, you'd be cement!"

"Why troll-mother so mean?" whined one of the creatures.

"I'm not your troll-mother, ya stupid git! Do I _look _like your ugly mother?"

Confused, the trolls muttered assumptions to the affirmative. One spoke up, "If you not troll-mother... then _what _you?"

"I'll tell ya what I am," growled Madge. "I'm yer worst―!"

"Troll-_wife_!" Don Karnage suddenly shouted.

"... what?" flinched Madge.

"Troll-_wife_!" shouted Karnage again. "What a _keeper_, yes-no? Better get it while it's _hot_!"

The sudden enlightenment fell upon the seven hairy beasts like a bright angelic chorus from the heavens. "Oooh!" they breathed, awestruck by the revelation.

"Wh-what?" stammered Madge, suddenly surrounded by a troll-wall. "I'm not yer―!"

"Troll-wife make us dinner every night?" one said excitedly.

"Troll-wife snuggle and keep us warm!" cried another.

Madge Hatter's protests were drowned out entirely by seven thunderous voices chanting, "Troll-wife! Troll-wife! Troll-wife!" The last the pirates saw of her, she was screaming as the trolls carried her back into their cavernous lair.

That done, Karnage staggered to his feet, wiped dust from his face, and regarded that after all the trouble, the dust smeared on his hands as the only thing he was going to take away from Polaria. Angrily, he kicked at the snow and threw a pointed claw down the fjord, the direction of the _Iron Vulture_. "Back to the ship, you slithering slugs. If I ever see snow again I will _feed _it to you up your noses! I want to fly! I want to plunder! And _I want to shoot something a lot_!"

The pirates grumbled at shuffled off, marching a morose line down the slope of the ridge. Karnage felt a tug on his coat tail, like he didn't know who _that _was. "_What_, boy?"

"Captain, look," said Kit. "I got it!" What Karnage turned to see was that Kit had a nice shiner darkening his right eye, and the Polarian crown in his hands; the latter he offered to the captain.

Speechless, Karnage took the crown by his fingertips and raised it to catch the sun; the diamonds cast a glittery light in his eyes, and he licked his chops with a greedy grin.

Kit smiled at him, watching him admire the glistening of the gold and diamonds, and waited patiently, if not hungrily, for a word of well-deserved praise.

Instead, Don Karnage peered over him as if searching his pockets for anything particularly treasure-shaped. "Anything else?"

Kit blinked, and his smile disappeared. "Wha'? No!"

"Ah well," shrugged the captain, "next time, no? Let's go." He mussed Kit's hair and made it sprout and fan like a fern, mixed with what was left of the white greasepaint. Kit sighed behind the captain's back when he realized that was as much of a commendation that he was going to get, but darn it, he took it.

* * *

><p>Following the big <em>S<em> on the compass, the _Iron Vulture _soared over a vast expanse of glistening blue sea, the cold arctic wind behind and warm latitudes ahead. It was a royal affair on the airship's bridge, where the sky pirate crew crowded to witness the coronation of _King _Karnage.

Kit sat on the arm of the captain's chair, while Gibber stood by next to it, a dignified posture straight as an arrow, holding a patched-up pillow with the Polarian crown resting on it. For lack of ceremonial fanfare, Don Karnage hummed to himself as he sauntered onto the bridge with steps of wide gait, his chest swollen with pride and tightening the brass buttons of his coat. He flicked his tail with a flourish before gently sitting down, then took the crown and held it high above his head.

"Dearly not-beloved," he said, "we are gathered here today by the power vested in _me_, Don Kar_rr_nage..." He elbowed Kit off the chair. "_Just _me, boy. By the power vested in me, I crown myself―"

A diamond from the crown fell out the its socket, bounced off his lap, and hit the floor with a sharp shatter. Karnage's speech was cut short as if something had grabbed his tongue, while a tiny squeak was uttered from Kit's open mouth. Diamonds were _not _supposed to do that.

While the pirates began to mutter among themselves, Karnage hurriedly fished from his coat pocket a jeweler's loupe, and examined the diamonds on the crown. There was no need for him to speak of what he discovered... his deep and sad frown already told that tale, and it did not change while he checked every single gem. "No! _No_!" he whimpered.

Kit joined him: "No, _no_! You gotta be _kidding_ me! They gotta be real, right? _Right_?"

Stooping to his hands and knees, Karnage brushed his finger over all the little, itty-bitty pieces of broken glass on the floor. He could have shed a pirate tear. Then he took a close look at the gold crown... gave it a sniff... tested its strength with a pull and a squeeze... It was with as much eagerness as if he were performing a self-appendectomy that he closed one eye and squinted with the other, and scratched at the crown's golden luster... he couldn't stand to look... but he did... and the crown's gold paint had scraped off where he scratched.

"Glass and tin," muttered Karnage.

A squeaky, dejected echo repeated his words: "Glass... and tin?" frowned Kit.

"Glass and tin!" roared Don Karnage, slamming the crown against the iron floor until its metal bent and fake gems shattered to oblivion.

Then it occurred to Kit. "The secret of the crown jewels," he remarked, absently.

"The _secret_?" Karnage raised his head enough to glower at the boy nose-to nose, and stalked him around the captain's chair and across the bridge, much how his feral counterpart would corner a tasty fawn. "_What _secret?"

"_Huh_? Wait, _I_ didn't know," stammered Kit, backpedaling. "I didn't even wanna go, but you said I _had _to get it! I wore that slimy makeup, and there were guards and trolls, and... and _fish-heads_ and I _had to eat a squid_ and I got attacked by a big angry woman! B-but I didn't quit. I _got _it!" Finally he was backed into the wall, and his shoulders bounced him back toward Karnage, where he angrily met the captain's glare with a finger pointed at his nose. "I got it for _you_!"

Karnage hesitated and stopped just shy of throttling him, his hot-tempered grimace quivering over gritted teeth. With a growl, he _lunged_... over the boy's head, grabbing a random pipe and throttling it instead. Grunting curses in unfriendly Spanish words, he wrenched the pipe out from its bolted metal fixtures until it snapped apart and hissed with steam. That done, as the steam dissipated, so did he, and he collapsed in a tired, miserable, big-winded huff.

"Then he wonders why stuff don't work," griped Ratchet, under his breath.

* * *

><p>Newly for sale at Moot Point was a curious relic: a <em>mysterious<em>, _ancient _crown, discovered in a shipwreck laden with cursed gold. Legend said it was was magical and could make its bearer read minds, see great visions and bestow great riches. Never mind that it looked like it had gone through the gears of a machine; all those odd dents and scrapes and hollowed gem sockets were because it was _rustic_, as any fool could discern, and those weren't little snowflakes on its arches, those were _runes_, so _ancient _and _mysterious _that if you had to ask, you were obviously unfit to have it. You didn't have to worry about if any of this was true, for it was officially authenticated by word of Don Karnage, pirate extraordinaire. It could be yours for the measly investment of a small fortune.

Gibber was responsible for pawning it off, among other things. He was going to be there a while.

Meanwhile, Karnage assumed his familiar spot on the beach, on his familiar towel, with his familiar stretch, soaking up the sun. Kit came splashing out of the surf, exploring a conch shell he found and tugged up at the waist of a pair of swimming trunks that sagged all the way to his ankles.

"Hey captain! You wanna get in?"

"No."

"I made a sand castle. Wanna blow it up?"

"_No_."

Kit sat and then sprawled out next to him, enjoying how the the warm, dry sand felt when squeezed between his fingers and toes. "Wanna just stretch out here like a piece of driftwood?"

Karnage adjusted the folded cloth over his eyes and sighed. "If possible, thank you."

"Fine by me," said Kit, his voice trailing into a yawn. The wind and mist of the sky was best, of course, but a nice warm beach had its merits. So did a bit of appreciation. Though the captain wouldn't say it, Kit figured that was the reason there had been two pirates leisurely lounging on the beach all day, instead of just the one.

"Comfy, boy?" asked Karnage, after a moment.

"Uh-huh."

"Having... _fun_?"

"Yep!"

"Hm. You know, I almost forgot," said Karnage. The cloth on his brow fell off while he turned on his side toward Kit with his jaw rested in his palm. His other hand was reaching for something behind his back. "I have a certain something for you, you son of a castle-robbing gun. A _present_, for when you are back on the _Iron Vulture_."

"A present? Really?" The captain's tone was oddly playful and it made Kit smile, and he could hardly believe his ears. He sat up on his knees and leaned forward, eagerly, without a guess on what Karnage could have been hiding.

Don Karnage grinned devilishly as he squinted against the sun's glare, and he brought about, between finger and thumb, a toothpick.


End file.
